


What stays and what fades away

by niniblack



Series: Never was the fantasy [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) - Fandom, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Mpreg, Past Mpreg, Sex, Violence, dadneto, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It is time for the strongest among us to take our place as the rightful rulers of this world,” Apocalypse says.</p><p>“You mean mutants?” Erik asks, finally feeling like he understands where this is going.</p><p>Apocalypse nods slightly.</p><p>“Sorry,” Erik tells him. “I don’t do that anymore.” Apocalypse tilts his head, mouth pressing into a thin line, and Erik adds, “You know how it is. You have kids and then all your career goals just go to shit.”</p><p>Or: the one where Apocalypse tries to use Erik’s family to take over the world.<br/>(Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4457366/chapters/10127768">This far but no further</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It’s X-Men: Apocalypse, now with 100% more mpreg! This fic involves a lot speculation based on the comics and what we know about XMA so far, so it’s possible there are spoilers within. Highly unlikely, but maybe Charles and Erik will start XMA off married with a couple of kids. A girl can dream.
> 
> Takes place approximately 7 years after the epilogue of [This far but no further](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4457366/chapters/10127768). Title is from No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Thank you to [EndingThemes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/endingthemes/pseuds/endingthemes) for the beta and listening to me talk about this series endlessly.

**_Erik_ **

Erik gets home from his latest mission well after midnight. The long driveway to the mansion looks picturesque in the daylight, but when it's pitch black and illuminated only by the headlights of his car it's more spooky and foreboding than anything. The mansion looms dark and silent above him, only a few windows showing light inside. He leaves the car by the front door instead of bothering with driving around to the garage and unlocks the door with a wave of his hand. It squeaks loudly as it swing open; he should probably fix that.

He's already stripped out of his coat by the time he gets to the bedroom he shares with Charles, tired enough that he's contemplating just crawling into bed fully clothed and dealing with everything in the morning. The mission had been a failure -- he and Raven had gotten there too late and found an abandoned lab and two dead bodies left behind, the other mutant prisoners already whisked away to the next hidden facility -- and Erik feels weary down to his bones.

He drops his coat and bag just inside the door, kicks his shoes off, and nearly collapses onto his side of the bed before he realizes that it's already occupied. Erik catches himself before he falls on top of David, noticing as he does that David is already awake and watching him. He's probably been awake since before Erik opened the door; David's always quiet like that.

"What are you doing in here?" Erik asks, voice barely a whisper. A glance at Charles confirms that he's still dead to world, sprawled on his back with an ice pack wrapped around his head.

"Daddy had a migraine," David whispers back.

Charles must have been using Cerebro again. Too long spent with his mind stretched out across the entire world always leaves him a bit high off the pure energy of touching that many minds, which then turns into a debilitating migraine after he comes back down.

"That doesn't explain why you're in here," Erik says. David has a long habit of crawling into bed with them in the middle of the night that they've been trying to break him of. 

"I had a nightmare," David says. "There was a man in my room."

"There’s no one in your room," Erik tells him. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."

He starts pulling David out from under the covers. Charles stirs a bit, but doesn't wake, and Erik hefts David up onto his hip to carry him back to his own room. David clings like a limpet, his weight warm and heavy and his chin digging into Erik's shoulder. Erik opens the door to David's room with his power and carefully navigates the minefield of discarded toys to make his way to the bed. He should probably tell David to clean his room tomorrow; there's no way Charles could even get his chair in here right now with the mess.

Erik drops David onto his bed with a bounce, reaching for the covers. David squirms as Erik secures the blankets around his shoulders, fighting his way free of them as soon as Erik's tucked them in. "The man was hiding in the closet," David says, pointing.

"There's no one in your closet," Erik says.

"You didn't even look."

Erik opens the closet door with a wave of his hand. In the dim light from the window, it looks like a dark, gaping void in the wall. "Look, no one there."

David still looks skeptical, so Erik gets up and flicks on the closet light, making a show of checking every corner. "Nope, no one here. It was just a dream."

"You're sure?" David asks.

"Positive," Erik says. "No one gets past me."

David's still frowning, but seems to accept that. Erik leans down to smooth his hair back and says, "Go to sleep, schatz."

David burrows down into his blanket, rolling over onto his side and still watching the closet carefully. Erik leaves the light on but closes the door until there's just a crack of light showing through. He waits until David's closed his eyes and his breathing has turned slow and steady before standing up and heading back to his own room.

He stops to crack open Lorna's door and finds her sprawled out on her stomach, snoring lightly.

Charles is still exactly where Erik left him. Erik strips off his shirt and pants before crawling in behind him, wrapping an arm around Charles’ waist and being careful not to dislodge his ice pack. It's mostly melted, but still cold.

"Did David go to sleep?" Charles asks, voice barely audible and rough with sleep.

"Out like a light," Erik says. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmm," Charles murmurs, twisting onto his side before settling back down. Erik tucks his knees up behind Charles' and presses his forehead against the back of Charles' head, curling around him.

He's asleep within moments.

\---

Erik's only been gone for a week this time, but in that time he appears to have missed Lorna becoming a teenager. She slides into her chair at breakfast, shoves a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, and then asks, "Can I dye my hair?"

Before Erik can say no, of course not, she's already off explaining that she found the perfect color. "I want to add black underneath," she says, pulling some of her hair around to the front to show him what she means. "And then get a perm. Like Madonna. It'll look totally awesome."

"No," Erik says.

"You didn't even think about it," Lorna protests. "Dad?" She turns to Charles appealingly.

Charles, who's staring into a mug of coffee like it contains all the secrets of the universe, doesn't even look up as he says, "I don't know why you think my answer is going to be any different."

"You should dye half of it red," David tells her. "Then it would look like Christmas!"

Lorna glares at him. "That would look _stupid_."

" _I_ think it would look pretty," David argues.

"That's because _you're_ stupid," Lorna tells him.

"Don't call your brother stupid," Charles says. It's a halfhearted protest at best. Erik frowns at him and wonders if he still has a headache. They usually don't last more than a night, but Charles has been even less of a morning person than usual today.

"No hair dye," Erik tells Lorna.

She practically growls in frustration as she slams her spoon down. "That is _not fair_. Jean got to bleach her hair."

"Jean's not my daughter," Erik says. "I don't care what she does to her hair. You're not dyeing yours black."

Lorna spots the loophole before Erik does. "So I can dye it a different color?" she asks. "Blue?"

"No. No hair dye."

"You are so mean!" Lorna cries. She shoves her chair back and storms out of the room, leaving her cereal mostly untouched.

"Hey! Come back and finish eating," Erik calls after her.

"I'm not hungry!" Lorna screams back at him. She uses her powers to slam the door behind her hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinet.

Erik stares after her, wondering where the sweet girl she'd been a week ago went. He wasn't gone _that_ long. He turns to Charles to ask about it, but then realizes what else was bothering him throughout that conversation.

"Was she wearing makeup?" Erik asks.

Charles finally looks up from his coffee and shrugs. "Probably."

"Where did she get makeup? She's not old enough to wear makeup."

"I'm choosing my battles wisely," Charles says, "and that is not one I want to have." He takes a long drink of his coffee before adding, "You're welcome to go for it, but you're going to lose."

Erik frowns. "When did she start..." He waves his hand to indicate the general change in Lorna's attitude. "She was fine when I left."

"She’s thirteen," Charles says.

"I know how old she is."

"I don't think she needs any other reason to act like a brat," Charles says.

David giggles, and Charles turns to him to say, "Don't tell your sister I called her a brat."

"Okay," David says agreeably around a mouthful of Cheerios.

"And don't talk with food in your mouth," Erik tells him.

David chews, swallows, and then says, "Okay."

At least one of his children listens to him, Erik thinks.

\---

At lunch, Charles still looks like death warmed over. "Are you sure you're alright?" Erik asks, running a hand over Charles' hair and trying to subtly feel if he has a temperature or not. It's heading towards winter rapidly and this is usually the time of year that Charles comes down with the flu. Ever since the bout of pneumonia he'd had a couple years ago, Erik's prone to worry.

Charles pushes him away gently. "I'm fine, it's just a headache. I was looking for new students yesterday and probably stayed in too long."

"Find anyone?" Erik asks.

Charles perks up a bit and says, "Yes, actually. There's a girl who can control the weather. It's fascinating. She's completely attuned to any changes in the atmosphere and manipulates them. I think she does it almost without realizing what's happening."

Erik doesn't try to hide his surprise. "The weather, really?" His first thought is that it's a rather useless power -- making it rain isn't exactly going to take down an enemy -- but then he thinks about it a moment longer and asks, "Can she generate lightning then?" He's experimented with that himself before, manipulating the electrical currents to create a spark, but he needs for the energy to already be present in the atmosphere before he can affect the charge and direct it where he wants. If this girl can create the charge herself, then she'd be a valuable ally.

"How old is she?" Erik asks.

"Late teens," Charles says. "Sixteen, I think?" He frowns. "Maybe eighteen. I'd like to talk to her, even if she's too old for the school."

Erik doesn't point out that no one ever seems to be too old for the school. Scott's over twenty now and doesn't show any signs of leaving the nest, no matter how much prompting Erik tries to give him. Charles insists that this is the only home some of these children have ever had, and it's cruel to kick them out as soon as they turn eighteen. Erik's tried arguing that they'll never figure out how to be on their own if they don't try, but Charles is adamant about the safe haven he's created being open for all.

“Where does she live?” Erik asks.

"Have you been to Egypt before?"

\---

Charles is feeling better that night, and Erik's been gone for a week, so Erik abandons any pretext and drags Charles out of his study and up to bed early enough that even Hank, who'd been trying to talk to Charles about lesson plans, raises an eyebrow at them.

"That was a bit obvious," Charles says. He doesn't comment on Erik making the elevator go faster, so Erik knows it's a token protest.

"It's just Hank," he says. "He knows we have sex."

"Yes, but it's not nice to rub his face in it."

Because it's too good an opportunity to miss, Erik says, "I have something else I'd like to rub my face in."

Charles stops moving, and Erik turns back to look at him. "Erik, that was _awful_ ," Charles says. He's fighting a smile.

Erik smirks. "Does that mean you're not interested?"

Charles looks torn. "Only if you stop making horrible jokes," he says. "You're really not funny. I don't know who told you that you were."

Erik nudges Charles' chair with his powers to get him moving again. "David thinks I'm hilarious."

"Yes, well, he's seven. What does he know?"

Erik abandons the conversation in favor of leaning down and kissing Charles once they get to their bedroom. Charles gets a grip on Erik's collar with both hands and pulls him further down, parting his lips and licking into Erik's mouth enthusiastically. He tugs Erik's lower lip between his teeth, sucking with just enough pressure. Erik holds back a groan. He shifts until he's got his hands under Charles' ass, gripping his thighs and lifting, and Charles wraps his arms around Erik's neck, holding on. One hand tangles in Erik's hair, forcing his head to the angle Charles wants it at, and Erik tries to concentrate on not breaking the kiss and also not falling over as he carries Charles to the bed.

He makes it, letting Charles fall backwards to land with a bounce and then following him down. Charles' grip tightens in Erik's hair as Erik starts trailing kisses down his jaw, working his way towards the spot low on Charles' throat that always causes him to make the most delicious breathy moans. This time is no different, and Erik takes his time, first lathing the area with his tongue, then blowing out a breath over it and making Charles shiver before he latches on with a sucking kiss.

Kissing Charles is really one of Erik's favorite things.

“I do hope you didn’t mean my throat when you said you wanted to bury your face somewhere,” Charles says, already a bit breathless.

Erik props himself up on his elbows, smirking down at Charles. “You need to be naked for what I had in mind.”

Charles eyes already look a bit wild and stunned as he stares back up at Erik. “Let’s do that then.”

Getting them both undressed doesn’t take much time at all, but finding the wedge pillow does. It’s usually just barely pushed under the bed so Erik shimmies to the edge of the mattress on his stomach and hangs off the side, the blood rushing to his head as he feels around under the bed.

Above him, he can hear Charles asking, bemused, “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn pillow,” Erik says. His grasping fingers finally brush the edge of it and start tugging at the same time that Charles decides to smack his ass.

Erik pulls himself back up to shoot Charles a glare. “What was that for?”

Charles is laughing. “It was really just too tempting, darling."

Erik reaches back down to retrieve the pillow and tosses it at Charles triumphantly. Once Erik has Charles where he wants him, sprawled on his stomach with the pillow lifting his ass in the air, Erik leans over to place a kiss against his shoulder blade. He works his way across Charles’ back to his other shoulder, then down his spine, leaving a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses. Charles shivers as Erik runs his nails along Charles’ ribs, light enough to tickle.

He pulls back after placing a kiss to the small of Charles’ back, cupping one ass cheek in each hand and squeezing lightly. Then he raises a hand and smacks his palm down against Charles’ right cheek, hard enough to turn the skin pink briefly.

“Ah!” Charles’ whole body jerks and he twists around to look over his shoulder at Erik.

“Payback is a bitch,” Erik says solemnly.

Charles swats at him with one hand. “Oh, honestly. Would you get on with it?”

"You're always so impatient," Erik says. But get on with it he does, and he's just gotten Charles to start alternating between cursing at him and begging for more when there's a quiet knock on the door and the knob rattles, the door cracking open.

Erik throws up a hand to shove the door shut again and lock it with hardly a thought, and there's a muffled noise from the other side before the knocking resumes and he hears David say, "Daddy?"

"Fuck," Erik says, resting his chin on Charles' ass.

Charles starts rolling over onto his back. Erik rests more of his weight on top of Charles to stop him and says, "Don't. Maybe he'll go back to bed."

David calls out again, voice trembling a bit. Erik shoves himself up to his knees and crawls off the bed. He finds his boxers on the floor and stumbles into them on his way to the door, opening it just enough to look down at David. "What's wrong, buddy?"

David rubs at his eyes, smudging tears over his cheeks, and asks, "Where's Daddy?"

"He's asleep." Erik kneels down to wipe at David's tears. "Did you have another nightmare?"

David nods.

"Want me to go check for monsters?"

David shakes his head and tries to push past Erik into the room.

"It's alright," Charles says. Erik glances over his shoulder to find that Charles is sitting up, blanket pulled up to his chest. Erik lets David dart past him to clamber up onto the bed, burrowing in against Charles' side. Over his head, Charles frowns ruefully at Erik and shrugs.

Erik sighs and crawls back onto the other side of the bed, willing his erection to go away and resigning himself to another night of getting kicked in the shins.

\---

The next morning, after Erik's shooed David back to his own room and is sitting on the bed, watching Charles get dressed, Erik says, "You have to stop letting him do that."

"What?" Charles asks.

"David can't keep sleeping in here."

Charles stops buttoning his shirt to turn and look at Erik. "He has nightmares."

"Yes. He's also far too old for climbing into our bed every night," Erik says.

"Well," Charles says, going back to his buttons, "I don't know what you expect me to do about it. I can't stop him having nightmares."

"Couldn't you?" Erik knows what the answer to that is going to be before he even says it.

"I won't," Charles says flatly. "They're his mind's way of processing."

"What's he have to process that's so bad?" Erik asks. "He's got a great life." Erik's worked hard to make sure of that.

Charles just shrugs, so Erik adds, "Lorna never had nightmares like this."

"Yes, she did," Charles says. "You just weren't--" He cuts himself off.

"Here?" Erik finishes for him. Under his breath he says, "That's not my fault."

Charles turns back around to face him, fully dressed now, and says -- acting although he didn't just bring up a different old argument -- "Lorna and David are very different. You can't expect him to react to everything the same way she does.”

Which still doesn't answer the question of what's causing David's nightmares. Erik sits up a bit straighter before saying, "Either way, he can't keep sleeping in here." Charles turns to look at him, but doesn't say anything, so Erik adds, "You have to start sending him back to his own room."

"Is this about the sex?" Charles asks, arms crossed.

_Yes_ , Erik thinks. At least partially. Last night was hardly the first time David's interrupted them, and Charles hasn't once tried to send him back to his own room when it happens. But because Erik's learned a thing or two after living together for eight years, he says, "Of course not."

Charles looks unconvinced.

"He's old enough to stay in his own room," Erik says again. "We have to start making him now or else he'll still be in here when he's fifteen."

"Now you're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not," Erik protests.

The argument dissolves from there, until Charles simply decides to stop speaking to him and heads downstairs for breakfast.

When Lorna tries to make her case for hair dye again, this time with illustrations cut from a magazine and colored with marker, Erik snaps at her and she goes quiet, staring down her breakfast and refusing to speak to him. He feels bad for taking out his mood on her, but can't bring himself to apologize.

\---

Erik ventures into town the next day and returns with something called _Colorific_ in Midnight Black that promises to wash out after three shampoos. He also picks up some of the loose leaf tea that Charles always spends more time inhaling the steam from than actually drinking.

He doesn't mention the tea to Charles, but leaves it next to the kettle so he won't miss it. It's not a great apology, but then Erik doesn't actually want to apologize. He wasn't wrong about Charles treating David like he's three instead of seven, and at some point it has to stop. But that doesn't mean that he wants to keep being angry about it.

He finds Lorna in her room, sprawled on the floor next to Jean as they flip through magazines. He turns down her stereo with a flick of his wrist and holds up the box when she turns look at him in protest.

Lorna's eyes go wide. "No way," she says slowly.

Erik shakes the box. "It's only temporary," he says.

Lorna jumps up and nearly knocks him over as she hugs him. "Oh my god, thank you, Papa, thank you! You're the best!"

Erik gives her a tight squeeze before she pulls away, snatching the box from his hands. "Is that the right color?" he asks.

"It's perfect," Lorna says. She waves it at Jean, who's sitting cross legged on the rug now. "Come on, let's try it now!"

Erik leaves them to it.

\---

That night, Erik finds Charles in his study, reading a textbook and sipping at a glass of scotch.

“Is that for history?” he asks. “I thought you already picked one.”

Charles frowns, not looking up from the book. “Not yet.”

Erik walks behind the desk and leans over Charles’ shoulder. The book is open to a section on the civil rights movement, grainy black and white photos of protesters. Erik has to squint at the caption to find out what exactly it’s from, having spent most of the ‘60s in prison. “You’re not going to find one with a mutant slant if you keep looking at books written by humans,” he tells Charles.

“We’re all human,” Charles says, leaning back a bit and resting the back of his head against Erik’s shoulder.

Erik rolls his eyes, since he knows Charles can't see it. “Find a mutant author if you want to teach mutant history.” He rests his hands on Charles’ shoulders and massages gently.

“You want to write a textbook?” Charles asks, leaning into Erik’s touch.

Erik leans down and nuzzles against Charles’ neck; Charles tips his head to the side obligingly. “You don’t like it when I teach the kids history,” he murmurs, lips brushing against Charles’ earlobe.

Charles shivers, eyes fluttering shut. Erik smirks, pressing a dry kiss just under his ear, against his pulse. “That's because,” Charles says, “your version of history is a bit biased.”

“I think you mean honest,” Erik tells him, voice muffled against Charles’ skin. “Someone has to tell them the truth.”

“You’re not--” Charles starts to say, before breaking off with a soft whimper as Erik sucks a bit of Charles’ skin between his teeth and bites softly.

Erik lets go, soothing the spot with a brush of his tongue. “I’m not what?” he prompts.

“Ung,” Charles says, swallowing hard. “Not allowed to stop doing that.”

Erik sucks another kiss onto Charles’ throat, a bit lower. Charles moans appreciatively. Erik moves further down, tugging Charles’ shirt collar aside to find a spot where Charles won’t yell at him for leaving a mark.

“We should really, hmm… go upstairs,” Charles manages to say. He’s reached back, the palm of one hand cradling the back of Erik’s head, fingers gripping as tightly as they can to Erik’s short hair.

Erik pulls back a bit and blows lightly over the bit of skin he’s been working between his lips. Charles shivers. “Or we could stay here,” Erik says. He straightens up and pulls Charles’ chair back from the desk so that he can kneel in front of Charles.

Charles is already hard and straining against the seam of his jeans. Erik grins up at him, running his hands inward from Charles knees, where Erik knows he can’t feel it, to his groin, where he can, and spreading his thighs as far apart as the chair will allow. Charles is staring down at him, chest already heaving.

Erik works Charles’ fly open with his hands. He could use his powers, and has before, but doing it this way means that Charles jerks a bit every time Erik’s hands brush against his cock through the fabric. Once he has Charles’ cock in his hand he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down and wrapping his lips around the head. Charles gasps above him, hips jerking. 

His fists tighten against the arms of his chair before he reaches for Erik, nails scratching against Erik’s scalp as he slides his fingers into his hair. Erik hums around Charles’ cock, earning him a, “Holy fuck,” from Charles, and a tighter grip on his hair. Charles doesn’t try to push, just holds on for what seems like dear life as Erik works his tongue against the underside of Charles’ cock. 

Erik has to pull back to suck in a breath, but then he licks Charles from base to tip before swallowing him as far down as he can. Above him, Charles is panting brokenly, making the gasping noises that Erik knows mean he’s close to orgasm.

“Erik,” Charles says. He tugs at Erik’s hair. “Erik, I…”

Erik hums lightly, making Charles break off in a moan, and then Charles is coming down his throat, fingers tightening in his hair before going slack. Erik swallows as much as he can, but when he pulls back he can feel the come dripping down his chin. He sits back on his heels, wiping at his chin. He smirks up at Charles, who looks completely wrecked, and sucks his fingers into his own mouth to lick the come off.

Charles reaches for him, snagging Erik’s sleeve with his fist and tugging until Erik stands up and leans over to kiss him. It’s a filthy kiss, loud in the otherwise silent room and Erik knows Charles can taste himself on Erik’s tongue.

Charles reaches for Erik’s fly, hands scrambling to undo the button while not breaking away from the kiss. Eventually Charles pushes him back, tugging hard to get Erik’s pants down. “Take these off,” he says.

Erik toes his shoes off, shimmying to get his pants and underwear off at the same time. He’s been hard since he’d seen Charles sitting at his desk, lamplight highlighting his profile as he’d tipped back a glass of scotch, throat working as he swallowed, and spending time on his knees sucking Charles’ cock hasn’t lessened his arousal at all.

Charles nudges Erik back towards the desk. “Sit here.”

“Your poor history book,” Erik says, but he shoves the book out of the way before sitting on the edge of the desk. Some papers on the far end flutter towards the floor.

“I wasn’t going to buy it anyway,” Charles says. He wheels himself forward a bit, and Erik spreads his thighs, heels winding up resting against the wheels. Charles leans over him, hands curling around Erik’s hips and breath warm against his cock. He spends a long moment just staring at Erik’s cock, like he doesn’t already know what it looks like and is studying it intently.

“What are you doing?” Erik asks impatiently. Charles leans forward and kisses lightly at Erik’s balls. Erik nudges him in the side with a heel. “Stop teasing.”

Charles stops teasing, leaving a trail of sloppy, wet kisses from root to tip and swirling his tongue around the head before wrapping his lips around it and sucking so hard Erik’s toes curl. Charles keeps sucking, and Erik falls backward, shoulder blades hitting the desk uncomfortably hard. He barely notices, the only thing his brain can register is how absolutely amazing Charles’ mouth is. Charles knows exactly what Erik likes best, and he’s got one hand pinning Erik’s hips down against the desk while the other works Erik’s cock in counterpoint to his mouth.

Charles’ hair is hanging forward, tickling against Erik’s skin as he moves. He reaches down to brush it back from Charles’ face, twining his fingers tightly in the strands and gripping hard. Charles winces, but leans into the touch and prods his tongue insistently at the underside of Erik’s cock until Erik’s not even aware of anything other than Charles’ mouth on him. Charles’ warm, wet, utterly fantastic mouth. Erik can feel himself getting close, pleasure pooling inside him and threatening to overflow, and manages the wherewithal to try and tug Charles back off of him instead of coming down his throat.

What actually happens is that Charles pulls back just enough for Erik to come all over his face with no warning. Charles looks stunned, eyes squeezing shut reflexively.

It takes Erik about a minute before he comes down off the high of his orgasm enough to do more than gape at Charles, both of them frozen in shock.

Charles has one hand raised, trying to wipe at his face and not helping much. Erik feels a spike of arousal deep in his gut at the sight of Charles covered in his come, but pushes it aside and sits up, wiping at Charles’ cheek with own hand to try and help. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” he says.

Charles opens his mouth, licking at some of the come on his lips and making a face. “No you’re not.”

“I am a little bit,” Erik says, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. 

Charles swats at Erik with his clean hand and misses by a mile since he still has his eyes closed. “Stop laughing,” he says, a smile tugging at his own lips.

Erik tugs his shirt off and grabs Charles wrist, to stop him from smearing it even more. “Hold still,” he says, wiping at Charles’ eyes with the shirt. Once he’s gotten the worst of it cleaned he tells him, “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Charles opens his eyes slowly, squinting a bit. Erik raises an eyebrow at him. Charles swats at him again before dissolving into laughter. “I can’t believe you did that!”

Erik starts laughing too. “I’m sorry,” he says, leaning forward and kissing Charles cheek, then his nose, then his mouth. They’re both giggling too much for a real kiss, but Charles wraps his arms around Erik’s neck and holds on to him anyway.

“We’re a mess,” Charles says. 

Erik starts to say that only Charles is a mess, but then notices that he’s managed to smear come across Erik’s chest as well, so actually yes, they’re both a mess. “Think we can make it to the shower without getting caught?”

“ _I_ can,” Charles says. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

“Well, I was going to try and make it up to you in the shower, but if you’re not interested…”

Charles tosses Erik’s dirty t-shirt at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

Erik smiles, with all his teeth. “That wasn’t a no.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but carefully directs anyone who’s still awake and wandering the halls out of their path on the way upstairs.

When they finally make it to bed, both still damp and clean, and Erik's lying sprawled on his back with Charles curled up against him, he says, "I gave Lorna hair dye."

Charles makes a questioning noise.

"It washes out,” Erik continues. “Maybe she'll get it out of her system, realize it looks awful, and not ask for anymore."

Charles snorts. "Sure, she will," he says, in a tone that makes it clear he thinks Erik is delusional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://images.luuux.com/0000F861292CC790263E0437217F18FD/middle/black-teal-hair_large.jpg) is what Lorna's hair looks like, only with a perm because it's the '80s.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Erik_ **

Two weeks later, Erik and Hank head to Cairo and find Ororo Munroe running through a back alley, a police officer in close pursuit. Erik yanks the officer to a halt by the metal in his uniform and leaves catching the girl to Hank. The officer tries to raise his gun towards Erik only to find it ripped from his hands and pointed back at himself, hovering in midair.

"Erik," Hank says warningly. "Leave him."

Erik shoves with his powers and the officer goes flying towards the wall of a nearby building, banging off it with a thud before Erik releases him to drop to the ground in a heap.

Hank runs over to make sure the officer is still alive, shooting Erik an exasperated look over his shoulder. Erik turns back towards Ororo, who’s standing about fifteen feet away, head tilted to the side slightly as she considers him.

Ororo says something in a language Erik doesn’t understand, but recognizes as local.

“Sorry,” he says, walking towards her but stopping a few feet away. “I don’t speak Arabic. English? Français? Deutsch?” he tries.

“Who are you?” she asks, in English this time.

“Erik Lehnsherr.” He waves a hand back towards Hank. “That’s Beast. We’re here to talk to you about our school for mutant children.”

There’s a reason Erik usually leaves the big introduction speech to Charles or Hank.

Ororo’s frowning at him. “I’m not a child,” she says.

Erik quirks his lips into a smile. She is a child -- she can't be more than a couple years older than Lorna -- but he's not going to argue with her over it. “That doesn’t matter.”

Hank comes up beside them then, saying to Erik, “Well, he’s not dead, no thanks to you. The last thing we need is to get arrested for killing foreign officials.” He holds out a hand to Ororo. “Hello, I’m Doctor Hank McCoy, if Erik hasn’t already told you.”

“He said you were ‘Beast,’” Ororo says, not taking Hank’s outstretched hand.

Hank pulls his hand back and stuffs it into his pocket, rocking on his heels awkwardly. “Yes, well. Sometimes I am.” He looks around the alley and then asks, “Is there somewhere we can talk? Perhaps we could buy you something to eat.”

Ororo still looks skeptical, but takes them up on the offer and leads them down several more alleys to a small restaurant. Hank spends the meal espousing the programs at the school. Erik interjects some anecdotes about the training programs, since he has a feeling this girl isn’t interested in the academics and college prep courses.

She eats quickly and spends the rest of the time leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Eventually she asks, “How did you find me?”

“Charles, that is, Professor Xavier, is a telepath,” Erik explains. “He found you while searching the world for mutants.”

She frowns. “I thought you said you were from America.”

“We are,” Hank says. “The school is located in New York.”

“He can see all across the world?” Ororo asks.

“He’s very powerful,” Erik says, letting a bit of the pride he always feels for Charles leak into his voice.

Ororo looks like she’s finally taking them seriously. “That’s impressive," she says. "But I don't need a school."

Figuring that's as much as they're going to get from her today, Erik stands up and holds out his hand to her again. "Well, Miss Munroe, it was a pleasure speaking with you. If you have any other questions or change your mind, we'll be at the Baron Hotel until tomorrow afternoon."

Ororo shakes his hand this time. "I will let you know," she says.

\---

Ororo turns up at their hotel room the next day with a hulking blue mutant following her.

"Who's your friend?" Hank asks, eyeing the other mutant cautiously.

Ororo ignores him in favor of smiling at Erik. There’s something a bit sinister about the expression, especially on a teenage girl. "This is Magneto,” she tells the man.

Erik tenses. He never gave her that name -- he doesn't use it when on recruiting missions for the school.

The man looks at Erik consideringly. "Magneto,” he says, drawing out the vowels. “Ororo tells me you are quite powerful. You killed the American president."

"I didn't, actually," Erik says, eyeing him warily. His involvement in Kennedy’s assassination isn't widely known outside of certain government circles, and certainly isn't common knowledge for African teenagers. 

“Why not?” the man asks.

“He was one us,” Erik says. “I was trying to save him.”

The man huffs out a breath dismissively. “Why try to save those too weak to save themselves?” He steps forward, forcing Erik to look up at him to maintain eye contact. "Are you also weak, Magneto?”

"Hardly," Erik says. He refuses to take a step back, but does cross his arms and narrow his eyes at the man. "Who the hell are you?"

"I am Apocalypse," the man says.

"That's a lovely name," Hank mutters. Apocalypse turns to look at him, and Hank draws himself up to his full height, shifting his weight nervously.

“It is just my most recent name,” Apocalypse tells him. “I’ve been called many things.”

Erik wonders if one of them was _melodramatic_ , but Apocalypse is still talking, “I am En Sabah Nur, the first mutant. Immortal god of the Egyptians.”

“Immortal, right,” Erik says. “How’s that work?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“All you’ve done so far is walk in here and start spouting nonsense,” Erik says. “I’ve met mutants claiming to be immortal before. They’re always the easiest to kill.”

Apocalypse laughs, full and deep, as though Erik’s made a joke. “I like you,” he tells Erik. “You’re strong.”

“Thanks,” Erik says. “I think.”

“You had the confidence to try and take one of my Horsemen for yourself,” Apocalypse continues. “A futile effort, but one I can admire, none the less.”

"Horsemen?" Erik asks.

“The four horsemen of the apocalypse?" Hank asks.

Apocalypse ignores the interruption and says, “Storm has shown me the recordings of your assault on the weak leaders of America. I’d like to offer you a place by my side.”

“What are you talking about?” Erik asks.

“It is time for the strongest among us to take our place as the rightful rulers of this world,” Apocalypse says.

“You mean mutants?” Erik asks, finally feeling like he understands where this is going.

Apocalypse nods slightly.

“Sorry,” Erik tells him. “I don’t do that anymore.” Apocalypse tilts his head, mouth pressing into a thin line, and Erik adds, “You know how it is. You have kids and then all your career goals just go to shit.” He smiles at Apocalypse. “But good luck.”

“Erik,” Hank hisses. “Are you _trying_ to piss him off?”

Erik is, actually. Because as far as he can tell, this man is all talk. Whatever he’s doing, he’s using at least one young girl to do it and Erik’s spent the past eight years helping Charles try to save kids like Ororo, so he doesn’t have much patience for people trying to exploit them.

Apocalypse stares at him steadily and Erik feels a bit like the man is looking through him. He meets his gaze, refusing to be the one to look away first. Eventually, Apocalypse says, “Storm, show them what happens to those that are too weak to join our new world.”

The first change Erik notices is that the wind has picked up, and a glance at Ororo -- or Storm, as Apocalypse keeps calling her -- shows that her arms are outstretched, face tilted towards the ceiling, as she hovers just off the ground. The air around Erik is crackling with energy. He reaches out towards it with his own power, but as soon as he touches it, it’s pulled from his grasp. 

Apocalypse turns to leave without another word, leaving Erik and Hank alone with Storm. She tilts her head to look down at them and Erik sees that her eyes have rolled back into her head, showing only the whites. She moves one hand to point at him, and Erik jumps out the way just in time to avoid being singed by a bolt of lightning. It leaves a smoking hole in the floor. The next one hits the wall behind where Erik’s head used to be. He pulls the metal bedframe towards himself, melting it down into a solid sheet to use as a shield. The next bolt hits the shield with a deafening clap of thunder. The shock of it reverberates through Erik’s bones, rattling his teeth and making his muscles tremble. He stumbles, but stays upright, and sends all the other metal objects in the room hurtling towards Storm in an attempt to distract her.

There’s a roar, and Erik glances over the top of his shield to see that Hank has transformed and launched himself at Storm, knocking her to the ground.

Storm breaks away from Hank’s hold and shoots a bolt of lightning at him, sending Hank flying back and straight through the opposite wall of the room with a crash of wood and brick. She aims at Erik again.

This time he’s ready, and he angles his shield to reflect the bolt back at her. Storm ducks just in time, dropping to the floor in a crouch. Her eyes flicker back to normal, briefly, glancing from Erik towards the hole in the wall that Hank’s fighting his way back through. She stumbles backwards towards the window, eyes white again, and blows out the entire wall with a wave of her hand before floating back through it, hovering in the open air above the street below.

Erik reaches for the pulsing magnetic energy that he uses to fly himself, intending to follow her, but there’s a roar like a freight train before all the air around him seems to be sucked toward the middle of the room. The walls and floors are breaking apart, debris swirling, and the last thing Erik has time to think before the floor collapses under him is to wonder if she just hit them with a fucking tornado.

He blacks out and wakes buried under rubble. It takes him a moment to clear his head and use the rebar spread throughout the rubble to lift it away from himself and crawl out. He stumbles a few feet away, coughing as the grit in the air scratches at his throat. There’s blood running down the side of his face from a head injury, but otherwise he seems to just be bruised. He turns back, searching for Hank, and finds him still half buried. It's the work of a few minutes to get him freed and away from what remains of the hotel. Hank's limping, and leans against Erik heavily as they survey the damage.

"This,” Hank gasps out, “is why I don't bring you on recruiting missions.”

\---

**_Charles_ **

Charles watches the plane land, squinting against the wind it kicks up. He can tell there are only two people on board, Erik and Hank, which means they must have been unsuccessful at convincing the girl to join them.

Erik’s the first one off the plane, taking the steps down at a jog. Charles raises his eyebrows at the bandage taped across his forehead. “What happened?” He reaches up to pull Erik closer, picking at the bandage a bit to get a better look. Erik winces, but lets him.

“It looks worse than it is,” Erik says. Charles hopes that's true, because it looks like Erik split his head open and tried closing it up with a couple of butterfly bandages instead of the stitches it probably needs.

“What happened?” he asks again.

Erik brushes a kiss against Charles’ lips before straightening up. “Turns out the girl had friends who weren’t keen on us talking to her.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Hank says, limping his way down the stairs. He’s moving stiffly, but Charles can't see any visible injuries.

Erik shoots Hank a glare and says, “We’re both fine. It looks worse than it is.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Charles points out.

“The hotel we were staying in collapsed,” Erik says. “No one was killed, but the girl ran off afterwards and we decided not to keep going after her.”

Charles looks to Hank for confirmation. Hank’s rolling his eyes at Erik. “That’s about right,” he admits. “She was already involved with a mutant group there. They didn’t want us around.”

“And somehow this resulted in destroying a hotel?” Charles asks.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Erik protests. “Hank can vouch for me. I didn’t have anything to do with the building collapsing.”

“For once,” Hank mutters. “You could have tried harder not to piss off a guy calling himself _Apocalypse_.”

“What about the apocalypse?” Charles asks.

"I wasn't trying to piss him off," Erik argues, ignoring Charles’ question. "I just told him I didn't want to help him take over the world. I can’t help it if he handles rejection poorly."

"You could have said it more politely," Hank says.

"I was polite!"

"For a given value of polite, maybe.”

Erik and Hank have continued walking toward the house while bickering, leaving Charles to hurry after them. "Wait, both of you! Are you telling that there's someone called Apocalypse trying to take over the world?"

Erik slows his walk to allow Charles to catch up. "I wouldn't worry," he tells Charles, smiling reassuringly. "He's the wrong side of crazy to actually be able to pull it off."

Charles frowns, and doesn't ask what the ‘right side of crazy’ looks like; it probably looks like Erik. "So I shouldn't worry about the crazy person trying to take over the world and recruiting children to help him?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

“Honestly, Erik,” Charles says, exasperated. Erik shrugs a bit. “What the hell happened?” Charles directs the question to Hank.

“You can look if you like.” Hank gestures towards his own head.

Charles is already raising one hand towards his temple when Erik asks, “You don't want my version?”

“Hank’s is usually more accurate.”

“That is not--” Erik starts to protest, but Charles is already in Hank’s mind, looking at the memory that Hank’s helpful enough to be thinking of almost exclusively. It’s a bit skewed, the way memories always are, but Charles can see the hulking man that called himself Apocalypse. He has on some sort of armor, the same shade of blue as his skin; it's hard to tell what’s armor and what’s part of his body.

Charles blinks back into focus on the here and now, looking up at Erik with a stern gaze. “You left out the part where the girl conjured up a tornado on top of you.”

“Did I?” Erik asks. “Oops.”

\---

The next day, Charles heads back down to Cerebro to try and check on Ororo again.

“I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish,” Erik says, after Charles explains what he’s doing.

“You said she went by ‘Storm’. That's the name of one of the people Logan told me to find,” Charles explains.

Erik, who has heard about the promise Charles made to Future-Logan over a decade ago now, looks skeptical. “Even if she is, he also told you to find Scott and Scott’s proved fairly useless.”

Charles refrains from rolling his eyes, just barely. “This level of disdain for a twenty-year-old is beneath you, Erik.”

“He blew up the greenhouse,” Erik reminds him. Erik had been a big fan of the greenhouse, spending afternoons out there training the kids in the winter, until a group training session with Scott had destroyed it. Only Jean’s telekinesis and quick reaction time had saved them all from being buried under sharp shards of glass.

“That was five years ago. His control is much better now.”

“He fried the roof of the library when his glasses slipped off.”

“He really can't help it…”

Erik shakes his head, changing the subject. “Storm isn't going to listen you. Whether she’s there of her own free will or being manipulated by Apocalypse, she seemed far too entrenched in whatever he’s doing to listen to reason.”

“I have to try,” Charles says.

He finds Ororo easily enough, since he knows where to look. She’s still in Cairo, but it’s one of the minds nearby that attracts Charles’ attention. He doesn't realize it’s the Apocalypse that Erik and Hank encountered until he’s already touched the other mutant’s mind.

Normally no one can tell Charles is in their head unless he wants them to know. It's a skill he’s perfected over the years, especially when using Cerebro. Apocalypse, Charles can tell, notices the instant Charles brushes against him. There’s a spark of awareness, and then, when Charles doesn't immediately withdraw, Apocalypse asks, _So you’re the telepath?_

His question is perfectly formed in a way that most people can never manage for mind-to-mind communication -- there’s a reason Charles usually uses proxies to communicate with people over long distances. Most people don’t think in the same way they converse, don't form complete sentences unless they're speaking them, and providing them a projection to converse with physically is much easier than deciphering the jumble of feeling, impression, and memory that make up their thoughts.

_I’m_ a _telepath_ , Charles answers. _So are you._ It's not a question. Only another telepath would be able to manage this kind of conversation.

_I am many things_ , Apocalypse answers. Charles notes that he doesn't think of himself as ‘Apocalypse’. Names are tricky, so deeply ingrained that most people don't think of them consciously. It takes a bit of digging for Charles to unearth his real name, En Sabah Nur. It’s an unusual name; Egyptian, perhaps?

Apocalypse notices the intrusion. _What are you looking for, little telepath?_

Charles ignores the question, and the slight, in favor of asking his own question. _What do you want with Ororo?_

He can feel Apocalypse smile. _The same thing you want. My own army._

_I’m a teacher_ , Charles says.

_So am I_ , Apocalypse says. _I could teach you. You have so much to learn._

Charles sees it then, the vision Apocalypse has of the world. It reminds him sharply of what he’d once seen of Shaw’s plans in Emma Frost’s mind, of the emptiness in the future that Logan had shown him. There are no nuclear bombs in this vision of the future, no giant robots hunting and killing everyone, but the devastation is the same. This time Apocalypse and his ‘army’ are the only ones left standing.

_Not the only ones_ , Apocalypse says. _But the weak will be culled. There is no place for them._

_Humans, you mean?_

_That's the same assumption Magneto made._ There’s a hint of amusement from Apocalypse. _Not all humans are weak, only most of them. Just as not all mutants are strong. You’ve let yourself be governed by weak leaders, which has made you weak in turn. Think of everything you could do if you were in control. All the children you could save. They don't have to grow up afraid of their own powers, afraid of their own families._

There’s a flash of memory then, a quick series of snapshots from Charles’ life: his stepfather shouting, threatening to send him to an asylum; Erik and Raven, clasping hands and disappearing in a flash of smoke; losing all his first students to Vietnam and the years of drunken loneliness that followed; Lorna and David in his arms, both cold and lifeless.

The last one shakes Charles out of it. _That didn't happen_ , he says firmly. He tries to pull himself away from Apocalypse’s mind but Apocalypse is latched on tightly, grip like a vice around Charles’ mind that he can’t shake loose.

_It will_ , Apocalypse insists. _And you will be too weak to stop it._

_Get out of my head_ , Charles snarls at him, putting everything he has behind yanking himself away from Apocalypse.

He slams back into his own mind with enough force to physically jar himself backwards, away from Cerebro’s controls. Charles fumbles to remove the helmet and throws it away from himself. His head is pounding and his stomach is roiling. He manages to lean as far over the side of his chair as he can before he starts retching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The hotel](http://www.baronhotels.com/uploads/hotel_main_images/705183_596150_108950_baron-Palace-by-night-2-1500x510238x193.jpg) ~~Erik~~ Storm destroyed...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm _so_ sorry for the long delay between chapters. Real life got a little too real these past couple months.

**_Charles_ **

Charles doesn't mention his encounter with Apocalypse to anyone. Erik would just worry, and his worry always expresses itself as anger and frustration. Charles is disinclined to have another argument about using Cerebro. It's easy enough to push the Apocalypse issue to the back of his mind; there’s always plenty of work to do for the school and Apocalypse is half a world away. He's not an immediate threat.

Raven calls one day, but asks to speak with Erik before Charles has even finished saying hello.

"It's nice to talk to you too," Charles says, voice overly pleasant. He reaches out with his powers to find Erik -- Erik’s decided that today’s a good day to “fix” the squeaky front door, and he’s currently thinking about how much better a metal door would be and wondering if Charles will let him burn this door and make a new one.

_Don’t kill the door_ , Charles tells him. _It’s been there for over a century._ There’s a general feeling of annoyance from Erik -- at the door, Charles presumes. _Also Raven’s on the phone for you._ There's no acknowledgement or attempt at conversation from Erik’s end, but then there usually isn't when Charles talks to him like this.

"We have such long, meaningful conversations," Charles continues to Raven. "Have I mentioned you're my favorite sibling?"

"That's not a high compliment, considering your step-brother," Raven says.

"You're supposed to say 'That's funny, Charles, because I'm your only sibling.' Then I'll laugh in a self-deprecating manner and we'll spend a few minutes talking about the kids and how I still have no idea what to do with a teenage girl and you'll impart some sort of womanly advice." There's a scoff from Raven that Charles ignores. "Then you'll talk to Erik and whisk him off to whatever exotic locale you've discovered this time. And then a couple months later we'll do the whole thing over again."

There's a pause, then Raven says, "But I'm not your only sibling. In fact--"

"Cain doesn't count," Charles interrupts. "You've entirely missed the point."

"Oh I got the point," Raven says, tone a bit sardonic. "I'm just ignoring it. Where's your husband anyway?"

Charles frowns. "We're not married."

"Are you sure about that? You act pretty married."

Charles rolls his eyes, since she can't see it. "We couldn't get married, even if Erik wasn't an escaped convict and illegal immigrant."

"Hey," Erik says. Charles glances up to find him standing in the doorway. "My immigration was perfectly legal."

"How long ago did your green card expire?" Charles asks, phone cradled against his shoulder. He can hear Raven snorting in amusement on the other end.

"Two or three decades ago, who's keeping track?"

"The federal government, I'd imagine." Charles holds the phone out towards Erik. "Raven wants to talk to you."

Erik sighs, but takes the phone, leaning against the edge of Charles' desk. After a brief conversation -- during which Charles pretends to grade the papers on his desk but really spends all his energy containing his curiosity and not looking into Erik's mind to get both sides of the conversation, especially since Erik's side is nothing but one word answers -- Erik slams the phone back down a bit harder than necessary and says, "I have to go."

"What did she find this time?" Charles asks, even though he already knows what Erik's answer will be.

"I'll let you know when I get back," Erik says, same as he does every time. The same sentiment, at least, if not the same exact words.

Charles forces himself not to sigh, and simply asks, "How long?"

Erik shrugs, which means it's probably longer than a week but less than a month. Charles has gotten good at figuring out what Erik's not saying over the years, and Erik never says much about the missions he goes on. Charles is fairly certain it's because the first time Erik had come home bloody, with Raven practically carrying him up the drive, Charles -- who had been heavily pregnant and angry enough at Erik just for being gone, much less coming home injured -- had hotly demanded to know what Erik had been doing and if it was worth dying over and never seeing his son. Erik -- who’d been angry about the mission going badly and whose skills with telepathy were generally limited to being able to shout ‘get out’ at increasingly loud levels -- had shoved all the memories of the past month at Charles, along with an awful jumble of emotions -- Erik’s anger at what the humans had done, his frustration at being unable to stop it, his justified paranoia of it happening again, to people he cared about, to his family. And underneath all of that, a fear of missing out on even more when he’d already missed so much with Lorna, a simmering anger at Charles for lying that had lessened, but not faded entirely, and a resigned knowledge that he couldn’t stay put, that he had to do _something_ , even if it meant leaving and missing out on even more. The combination of everything had given Charles the migraine to end all migraines, and ever since there’d been an unspoken agreement not to discuss it.

"Well,” Charles says, “do you have to leave tonight or--"

"I need to leave right now, to be honest," Erik says. "She should have called sooner."

Charles frowns. David's birthday is in a couple weeks, but Erik wouldn't have forgotten that. Instead of mentioning it -- even though Charles is dying to ask if Erik's going to be back in time -- he asks, "Should I be worried?"

Erik's answer is a tight smile, the kind that always looks a bit too forced for whatever the situation is. "Of course not."

\---

It's only a week before Erik gets back, during which Charles is distracted by planning for finals and figuring what to do for the kids who don't go home for holidays. Thanksgiving is this week, and David's birthday is just a few days later.

Charles knows the moment they get back, because Erik and Raven's minds both call out to him like a beacon with their familiarity, even if Charles sticks to his old promise not to read either of their thoughts. He's always aware of surface emotions -- right now, Erik's feeling pleased, which means the mission probably went well, and intrigued by something Charles can't see.

Raven's the one who comes to find Charles, who's in the middle of teaching a class. He can tell she's watching from the doorway, but wraps his lecture up before glancing towards her. Raven's leaning against the door jam, arms crossed and a small smile on her face, blonde disguise in place.

“Please read the rest of the chapter for tomorrow. You can go,” he tells the kids. There's another fifteen minutes of class left, during which Charles would usually ask for questions, and they all jump up and hurry out the door before he can change his mind.

Raven makes her way towards the front of the room. “Hello _professor_ ,” she says with a grin.

“Hello yourself,” Charles says. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asks, leading her out of the classroom.

“I found another stray for you," Raven says. "She’s like Jean, telepathy and telekinesis.” She pokes Charles in the shoulder. “How come you just have telepathy when all the other telepaths we find have both?”

“Where was she?” Charles asks, ignoring the question. Raven finds most of her _strays_ in the hidden government facilities that she and Erik raid or living on their own, abandoned by their family, and they usually need some extra reassurances that this school is actually a safe place.

"You don't want to know," Raven says. Charles wants to argue that he does, actually, because he has a general idea of what Raven and Erik do, despite their refusal to discuss it with him, and the things he imagines are probably worse than reality.

Or the things he imagines don't even scratch the surface, which is part of why he never presses the issue.

"She has these amazing blades she makes from nothing," Raven says, skirting the question of where they found the girl. "They'll slice through anything.”

Charles frowns. “Weapons?”

Raven nods. “I think she creates them with her telepathy or something. They’re some sort of energy, not really a sword but works like one.”

“Where is she now?”

“I left her downstairs with Erik.”

Charles pushes his chair a bit faster to get to the elevator. “You know better than to leave the new kids with Erik,” he says, making Raven laugh. “Remember when you left him alone with Alison?”

“Which one is she?” Raven asks, as they step into the elevator.

Charles hits the close door button even though he knows it doesn't do anything. “She turns sound into light.”

Raven’s brow crinkles as she tries to remember who that is.

Charles sighs. “She makes lasers,” he says.

“Oh! I remember that one.” She pats Charles on the arm. “Don't worry, I'm sure Betsy won't destroy the library just because Erik asks for a demonstration.”

The library is intact, but the same can't be said for the foyer. Charles eyes the destroyed chandelier with a resigned expression.

“No one liked that old thing anyway,” Erik is reassuring a girl who must be Betsy. She doesn't look nearly as apologetic as Charles thinks someone who just destroyed an antique chandelier should.

"Hank liked it,” Charles points out.

“Like I said." Erik grins. "No one liked it.”

“Sorry,” Betsy says. She holds her weapon up, a sparking purple blade of energy. “He asked how well I could throw it.”

“Of course he did,” Charles mutters. He reaches out to try and see how Betsy is controlling the energy, but her mind is tightly shielded and she raises an eyebrow at him, clearly noticing the attempt to peek inside her mind. “Sorry,” Charles says, smiling at her. “You'll have to tell me how you're controlling that energy.”

Betsy shrugs. “I don't know, I just do it.”

“Well, we can work on helping with precision then,” he says, eyeing the chandelier again. He looks back at Betsy as she finally dissolves the weapon. “Did Raven and Erik tell you that this was a school.”

Betsy nods. “They said it was for mutants only.”

“Yes,” Charles says. “Come on, let's find you a room. You’ll have to share, but we keep each room to only four people,” he tells her. He gives Erik a smile, glad to see that he's in one piece and happy enough to joke, before gesturing for Betsy to follow him back towards the students’ wing of the house.

\---

“Where did you really find that girl?” Charles asks later, after he’s transferred himself over onto the edge of the bed and is watching as Erik strips out of clothes. He folds them as soon as he's taken them off before dropping them into the hamper in a neat stack; it's a habit that has always driven Charles nuts.

Erik doesn't look up from his shirt as he says, “A lab.” 

Charles resists rolling his eyes, even though Erik has his back turned.

Erik drops the shirt in the hamper and starts shimmying out of his pants. “Might have been government funded,” he continues, “but they'd destroyed all the paperwork by the time we got there.”

“Which government?” Charles asks. He knows better than to push on the type of lab and what they'd found there, since Erik always either clams up and refuses to talk about it. But the positive public perception of mutants in the States has been steadily on the rise ever since Raven had saved Nixon, so Charles does know that most of the facilities that Raven and Erik go after are overseas.

“Japanese.”

“You were in _Japan_ for a week and didn’t even think to mention it?” Charles demands.

“It wasn’t a tourist visit,” Erik says. He turns back to look at Charles, clad only in his briefs. 

Charles can’t help from looking him up and down appreciatively, and when he glances back up at Erik’s face, Erik raises an eyebrow.

“You could have brought back sushi, is all,” Charles says, trying to lighten the mood.

“I brought you a student.”

“Yes, and I'm just saying that some sushi would have been nice too.”

Erik walks towards the bed until he’s standing directly in front of Charles, arms crossed and eyes narrowed suspiciously. The pose just emphasizes how broad his shoulders are. “You don’t like sushi,” he says.

“Sure I do.”

“No,” Erik says, shaking his head. “I’ve only seen you eat it once, when you were pregnant.”

Charles laughs. “Yeah, that’s definitely not happening.” He reaches out to rest his hands on Erik’s hips and pull him closer. Erik steps forward, but doesn’t uncross his arms. Charles tugs at Erik’s hands. “Are you going to just stand there all night?”

“I was planning on sleeping,” Erik says, giving in to Charles’ tugging and letting his arms fall to his sides, but not moving otherwise.

“Just sleeping?” Charles asks. He slips his hand up the leg of Erik’s briefs. Erik’s cock is soft, but twitches as soon as Charles wraps a hand around it and starts stroking.

“Japan was a long flight,” Erik says. “You know I don’t sleep on planes.” He rests his hands on Charles’ shoulders, hips twitching forward a bit.

Charles pulls his hand back to lick at his palm, slowly and messily and making a show of it since Erik is watching, before setting himself to the task of making Erik hard as a rock inside his briefs. It doesn’t take long but Charles doesn’t stop until Erik’s breathing hard, leaning forward over Charles with his back bowed while his hips twitch forward helplessly. Charles gives one last firm stroke from root to tip before pulling his hand back, wiping it off against the fabric. He looks back up at Erik’s face, which is a bit flushed now, and says, “I was hoping you were planning on fucking me into the mattress, but if you really need the rest I completely understand.”

“Fuck,” Erik mutters. “Charles…”

“That’s the idea,” Charles says, smirking.

Erik’s answer is to grab Charles by the arms and manhandle him into lying down further up the bed. Charles goes with it, landing sprawled on his back with Erik straddling his hips. Erik grinds down, and Charles, who’s been half-hard in his own pants for what seems like forever now, pushes up against him as much as he can.

Charles is still wearing his undershirt and Erik pushes it up his stomach, his cold hands raising goosebumps on Charles’ skin and he trails them slowly up his stomach and over his ribs. He keeps pushing the shirt up and over Charles’ head, but leaves it tangled around his elbows, trapping them awkwardly over Charles’ head. His hands keep sliding up until he’s gripping Charles’ wrists loosely, pinning them down.

Charles tugs a bit, testing, but doesn’t fight the hold. “I thought you were tired,” he says, staring up at Erik.

Erik’s smirk spreads across his face slowly as he gazes down at Charles. “I found some untapped energy.”

“Oh, lucky me.” Charles wiggles a bit impatiently. “Are you going to get on with it then?”

Erik lets go of Charles’ wrists and sits back on his knees. His cock is still straining against his underwear, but rather than move to take them off he starts working on getting Charles’ pants off. Once he’s tossed them onto the floor, he starts stroking Charles’ cock, far too lightly to actually be trying to get him off with it.

“The lube’s where it always is,” Charles points out.

“I know,” Erik says.

Charles waits a minute, but Erik is still just giving him a handjob and doesn’t seem like he’s planning on taking it anywhere else. “It’s in the drawer,” he says. “Can you reach or do you want me to get it?”

“You are really bossy tonight,” Erik says, still not reaching for the lube.

“I’m always bossy.” Charles struggles a bit until his arms are no longer trapped by his shirt, then starts scooting away so that he can reach the drawer of the nightstand himself, but Erik grabs his hips to stop him. “Oh honesty, if you don’t want--”

Erik interrupts him with a kiss. It’s light and fairly chaste, especially in contrast to the hand Erik’s still got wrapped around Charles’ cock. “Just… slow down a bit,” Erik says. He leans in for another kiss, this time with more tongue, and Charles kisses him back enthusiastically, running his fingers through Erik’s hair to tilt his head a bit for a better angle.

“I can do slow,” Charles says softly, between kisses.

Erik laughs, the sound low and breathy and something about it shoots a spark of desire straight through Charles. He tightens his fingers in Erik’s hair and pulls him back down for a kiss, trying to make it hard and sloppy but is derailed by Erik’s refusal to meet him halfway. Charles groans in frustration.

“I told you,” Erik says, pulling back and _finally_ reaching for the nightstand and the lube it holds. “Slow down.”

Charles huffs a bit, giving Erik an unamused look. It's gone a moment later when Erik wraps a slick hand around Charles’ cock, stroking him a few times before sliding his hand back further, to tease at Charles’ hole. He keeps that up until Charles is squirming, trying to thrust back towards Erik’s hand and set the pace himself.

“Erik…” It’s practically a whine, and Erik looks far too pleased with himself. “Stop teasing,” Charles tells him.

“I thought you liked teasing.”

“I like it -- ah!” Charles’ whole body jerks a bit as Erik finally slides a finger into him, up to the knuckle all in one smooth movement. “I like it when I'm doing the teasing.”

Erik works a second finger in, setting up a slow rhythm. Charles tries to lie back and just enjoy it, but he can't stop himself from trying to push back, to fuck himself on Erik’s fingers harder and faster than the pace Erik is setting. He wants to chase down the pleasure he can feel building, not wait for it to come to him. But he has no leverage to move the way he wants while lying on his back like this, and Erik knows it, clearly, if his smug grin is anything to judge by.

“Just relax,” Erik says, kissing Charles again on the mouth, before trailing kisses down his jaw and towards that spot on Charles’ neck, just under his jaw, that always sends sharp pangs of arousal straight through him.

“I’m relaxed,” Charles says. The fingers he’s threading into Erik’s hair spasm a bit, the back of Erik’s head cradled in his palm. He tilts his neck to give Erik more room.

Erik hums against Charles’ skin and keeps kissing him there as he slips a third finger in alongside the first two. Charles’ stomach tenses up a bit involuntarily before he relaxes again. He doesn’t try to suppress the soft sound that it drags out him. 

Erik doesn’t let up kissing him, just slowly moves from Charles’ neck down to his collarbone, sucking sloppy kisses against Charles’ skin. Charles is just starting to drift a bit, buoyed up by the dual sensations, when Erik twists his fingers a bit and finds Charles’ prostate.

Any relaxation Charles had achieved is gone in an instant, as Erik keeps stroking at _exactly_ the right spot and Charles feels a bit like he’s vibrating on how good it feels. He could come just from this, he thinks. From Erik’s long fingers stroking inside him and nothing else. He scrambles to grab hold of Erik’s wrist, slowing him down. “Stop, stop.”

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks.

“As -- ung.” Charles has to take deep breath as Erik pulls back, fingers slipping from inside him and leaving him feeling empty. “Amazing as that feels,” he manages to continue. “I _really_ want you to fuck me.”

Erik’s chest is heaving a bit as he looks down at Charles. “Right,” he says, like he’s just made some kind of profound decision about fucking Charles. He rocks back up to his knees and proceeds to squirm his way out of his underwear before pouring some more lube into his palm, giving his own cock a couple of strokes.

He slides a hand behind Charles’ knee to lift his leg up and to the side -- always a bit of an odd sensation, no matter how much Charles has gotten used to being able to see but not feel anything touching his legs. Then the head of Erik’s cock is nudging against Charles’ hole, and that’s the only thing Charles can think of. He consciously relaxes his body until Erik’s sliding in, the initial burn that’s just on the edge of pain and pleasure one of the things Charles’ relishes about sex.

He tilts his head back, staring unseeing up at the ceiling while Erik hovers over him, still for a moment. “Keep going,” Charles says.

Erik doesn’t need any further encouragement. He pulls back and then pushes forward again, short, shallow thrusts at the same slow pace he’d been using earlier with his fingers.

Erik has one hand braced alongside Charles’ head, holding himself up, and Charles wraps him hand around Erik’s bicep and squeezes. “Fuck me,” he says.

“I am,” Erik says. He pulls out almost all the way, then slides in again painstakingly slowly. Then he does it again. The third time the head of his cock just brushes against Charles’ prostate, and Charles tightens his grip even further, nails digging into Erik’s skin.

“Like you mean it,” Charles says.

Erik leans down to kiss him, practically folding Charles’ body in half to do it. “I told you to slow down and relax,” he says, still close enough that Charles can feel the puff of breath with every word.

Charles whines, high in his throat, as Erik changes angle a bit. “You’re a sadist,” he hisses out.

Erik chuckles a bit, before kissing Charles again.

He keeps up the same torturously slow pace for what feels like forever. Charles is pretty sure the entire night’s passed while Erik fucks him like this. It will be morning soon and he still won’t have come. Someone will come knock on the door and interrupt them and Charles will start crying because it feels so damn good but just not quite good _enough_ and he just wants Erik to hurry the fuck up.

When his orgasm hits, it’s been building for so long that Charles hadn’t even registered it until it’s spilling over, his body shaking with it. Erik’s stroking his cock, the same slow pace, and he doesn’t speed up at all as Charles’ starts striping his own stomach with come.

“Charles…” Erik groans, clearly struggling now to keep the same slow pace himself.

“Come on,” Charles says. “Come for me.”

Abruptly, Erik pulls out, making Charles wince at the emptiness. Then Erik’s kneeling over Charles, stroking his own cock quickly until he falls forward, barely catching himself before landing on top of Charles, his own come spilling across Charles’ stomach.

Erik falls as soon as he’s done, managing to land only halfway on top of Charles. After a few minutes of both of them trying to catch their breath, Erik levers himself up and off the bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth, and Charles, already halfway asleep, murmurs at him in thanks as Erik cleans him up.

Charles opens his eyes when Erik climbs back into bed. Erik's staring at him with his brow wrinkled, deep in thought.

Charles reaches up to run his thumb over Erik’s brow, smoothing the line there. “What is it?”

“Do you ever think about having another one?”

“Another what?”

“Baby,” Erik says.

Charles raises his eyebrows. The answer is no, of course, because he’s _never_ sat down and thought “I want a baby,” and then gone about planning for one. He's just… had them. Never with any planning and always after forgetting that he’s actually capable of it.

When Charles doesn't answer right away Erik turns, flopping down onto his back. “Forget it,” he says.

Charles moves, draping himself over Erik’s chest so that he can look at his face. “You’re serious,” he says. It's not a question.

Erik shrugs again, the movement jostling Charles.

“I mean, I hadn't been thinking about it,” Charles says. “Do you want another one?”

Erik’s gazing up at the ceiling. “I don't know.” Charles waits, but Erik doesn't say anything else.

Charles lies down, head cushioned on Erik’s chest. Erik raises one hand and starts stroking it over Charles’ hair. For as close to sleep as he’d been five minutes ago, it takes awhile for Charles to drift off again.

\---

It feels like Charles blinks his eyes closed and when they open again, it's already Thanksgiving. Lorna starts off the day by claiming that she can't eat turkey, she's a vegetarian now, which makes Erik roll his eyes and ask Charles when she's going to go back to normal.

"Being a vegetarian _is_ normal, Papa," Lorna insists. "What's not normal is torturing and killing animals for our own enjoyment."

“Who’s torturing them?” David asks.

“The people who make chicken and turkey,” Lorna explains. “I don’t want to contribute to our society doing horrible things to baby chicks.”

"What if you were starving, and the only thing you had to eat was a turkey?" Erik asks.

It's Lorna's turn to roll her eyes. "That's a stupid question," she says. "I'm not going to be starving and have only turkey to eat."

"You don't know that for certain," Erik tells her. "Anything could happen."

"Erik," Charles admonishes, trying to keep the peace. Erik shoots him a 'who me?' sort of look and this time Charles is the one trying not to roll his eyes. He turns to Lorna, "You can just not eat the turkey then. There's plenty of other food."

“I don’t want to eat the turkey either if they tortured it,” David says.

“Not you too,” Erik mutters.

“Thank you,” Lorna tells David. “At least someone here understands.” She turns to Charles to ask, “Can we get a tofurkey?”

"I don't know what that is," Charles says, "but no. I placed the catering order three weeks ago; the menu is already set. You’ll just have to live with it."

Raven, sitting on the edge of the counter and sipping on coffee, bursts into laughter. "You sound like your mother."

Charles turns to her with a horrified expression. "Take that back."

Raven shakes her head, still laughing.

“What about eggs?” David asks Lorna. “Are eggs okay to eat?”

“What would be wrong with eggs?” Erik asks.

“Nothing,” Lorna says. “As long as the hen that laid the egg was treated humanely.”

Erik stares at her for a moment, before turning to look at Charles like he expects Charles to back him up on this. Charles shrugs.

“Fine then,” Erik says. “You two can eat salad. Leaves more food for the rest of us.” He reaches over to Lorna’s plate and snags one of her untouched slices of bacon, tearing off a bite of it while maintaining a slightly manic grin.

Lorna has the same expression that Erik does for things she finds personally offensive, and aims it at him now. Charles takes a long sip of his coffee to try and hide his amusement.

\---

It's not until halfway through the rather raucous meal that evening that Charles realizes his newest student is missing. "Have you seen Betsy?" he asks Hank.

Hank holds a finger up and finishes chewing before saying, "Haven't seen her since last night, when we were working out a class schedule."

Charles frowns, and brings his fingers to his temple as he tries to filter out all the minds surrounding him and search for just hers. There's no one; everyone currently on the grounds is inside this room or very close by. "She couldn't have left without anyone noticing," he says, before remembering how strong her shields were. She could probably hide herself from him entirely, if she wanted.

"What's wrong?" Erik asks, leaning forward from across the table.

"Probably nothing," Charles says. Which is true, running a boarding school has taught him that sometimes kids just like to have some privacy and they'll find all the remote corners of the house to hide in. Still, Betsy is new and doesn't know her way around yet, and not being able to find her at all worries Charles. "I'm going to run downstairs and see if I can find Betsy."

Erik frowns. "I'm sure she's fine."

"I'm sure she is too," Charles says. "I'm just going to check." He excuses himself from the table, taking a last sip of his wine before heading to the elevator and down to Cerebro. Betsy should be easy enough to find using it, shields or no.

\---

Betsy, it turns out, is perfectly fine. She's also in league with Apocalypse and has met him and two others (the girl from Cairo, Storm, and a boy that Charles doesn't recognize) at the front gate.

_Hello again, little telepath_ , Apocalypse says, latching on tightly when Charles brushes past his mind.

_What do you want?_ Charles asks. As soon as he asks the question, he gets his answer. Apocalypse wants _him_. He wants Charles' powers to use for himself, to control those who won't follow, to root out those who don't agree and rip their minds to shreds. He wants another henchman, a fourth horseman to complete his collection.

_I'm not helping you_ , Charles tells him, trying to pull his mind away from Apocalypse's. Apocalypse grips harder, making Charles feel like he's being squeezed in Apocalypse's metaphorical fist. _Get the fuck out of my head_ , Charles snarls at him. He reaches up to remove the helmet, hoping that will sever the connection, but finds himself unable to move at all. His arms are suddenly as numb as his legs, and Charles opens his eyes to stare at the surrounding curved metal walls of Cerebro with a gasp.

Apocalypse laughs, mentally and physically. It echos loudly in Charles' head, and then trickles from his own mouth. Charles scrambles at the mental hold Apocalypse has on him, trying to break free. It feels like clawing at solid rock.

_This machine_ , Apocalypse says, _it amplifies powers._ He seems fascinated by it. _I’ve never felt this kind of power before._

_Cerebro_ , Charles thinks. It must be amplifying Apocalypse’s powers as well, giving him the power to fight Charles at every turn. Charles tries shutting down his own mind, a last desperate attempt to force Apocalypse out, but the more he fights the tighter Apocalypse's hold becomes, until Charles feels himself being pushed back, into the recesses of his own mind and out of the control seat for his own body.

He wonders briefly if this is how people feel when he uses his powers to control them. He's never been on this side of it before, and he feels absolutely sick at the idea that this pain and confusion is what he's subjected others to.

"You hold the entire world in the palm of your hand," Apocalypse says, using Charles' own mouth. He grins, and Charles feels very detached from his own body as his lips curve upwards. He's locked away in his own mind with the awareness of what's happening, but unable to affect anything. It's a surreal sensation.

Apocalypse lifts Charles’ hand, palm up, then squeezes it into a fist. Charles can only watch.

_Let go_ , he tries to say. It takes an extraordinary amount of effort to even form the thought.

Apocalypse ignores him. "You will be incredibly useful, little telepath," he says. "We're going to do wonderful things together."

\---

**_Erik_ **

Later, Erik will blame himself for letting the holiday distract him. He will be certain that he _knew_ something was wrong, that there was something off about Betsy and how they found her, that her disappearance was suspect and that his gut had been telling him not to let Charles out of his sight. But that won't be true, because the reality is that Erik doesn't realize anything is amiss until there's an almighty crash from the other end of the house.

The chatter in the room dies instantly, everyone turning towards the noise, and Hank is the first one on his feet, telling the children not to worry, but to hurry towards the secret exits to the tunnels under the house, like they practiced.

"It's probably nothing," Hank insists, herding the kids towards the door.

"It didn't sound like nothing," Raven says, earning a stern look from Hank. She raises her hands a bit defensively, and adds, "I'll go check."

Erik starts to follow her, but then there's a tug on his hand and he turns to find David looking up at him. "What’s going on?” David asks.

Erik gently turns him towards Hank. "Everything's fine," he says. "Raven and I are just going to go check. You stay with Hank, alright?"

Hank holds out a hand that David takes reluctantly, and Erik gives him a nod before hurrying after Raven. He finds her hovering in the hallway leading towards the foyer, crouching in the dark and nearly invisible, her yellow eyes shining out of the shadows.

"The front door's gone," she says quietly, barely above a whisper. "Along with most of the wall."

Erik presses himself against the wall before peeking around the corner. The room is filled with rubble, and it looks like one of the doors landed halfway up the staircase. "Did you see anyone?" he asks.

Raven shakes her head. "They're not inside yet. Might be waiting for us to come to them. Do you think it's the government?"

"I don't think they'd be bold enough to physically attack the school," Erik says. Politically and in the media, yes, but Charles' influence, namely his money, usually manages to hold the worst of them at bay.

"Who have you pissed off recently then?"

Erik doesn't turn to look at her, keeping his attention on the destroyed foyer. "Who says they're here for me? You have plenty of your own enemies."

"It's not my house," Raven points out. "Did you send Charles with all the kids? He ought to be able to tell us who's out there. Or freeze them or something."

Erik frowns. "He went down to Cerebro." He glances back at Raven and finds her with her eyes closed, brow wrinkled as she squeezes her eyes shut tight. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Trying to talk to Charles," Raven says.

"You don't have to--"

He's interrupted by another crash from the foyer, as a gust of wind picks up the debris from the destroyed wall and begins to swirl it around, rising higher and higher until Erik looks up and sees that it's taken out part of the roof as well.

"Shit," he says. It's the same power as the girl in Cairo, Storm. Which means this attack must be orchestrated by Apocalypse. There are at least two of them out there then, possibly more. 

He relays the information to Raven, who asks, "What did you do to piss him off?"

Erik glares at her. "Refused to help him take over the world."

"Really?" she asks, sarcastically. "You usually like that sort of thing."

Before Erik can argue, the wall they've been hiding behind is ripped away. He and Raven both hit the floor, arms instinctively raised to protect their heads. When Erik looks up a few seconds later, it's to see what's left of the wall crashing into the fountain out front. In front of it stands the hulking half-man, half-armor form of Apocalypse. He's flanked on both sides by what must be his horsemen, if Erik is remembering their conversation in Cairo correctly.

"Four of them," Raven mutters. "That should be manageable."

Betsy's sparking psionic weapon lights up as it flies toward them. Erik and Raven both dive in different directions, and Erik winces as he lands hard on some loose debris from the wall. He jumps back up, grabbing hold of one of the cars sitting in the driveway and throwing it at Apocalypse's group.

Betsy raises her hand and some sort of shield deflects the car. Erik grabs it again, pulling it towards himself to use as a shield.

"I don't want to fight with you, Magneto," Apocalypse calls out. "We want the same thing."

Instead of replying, Erik tries throwing the car at him again. It deflects off Betsy's shield again, and Storm kicks up enough wind to carry it further out, crashing in a crunch of metal and glass out in the yard.

"Come now," Apocalypse says, voice carrying clearly even though he doesn't seem to have raised it. "I just want to talk with you."

"Is that why you ripped the wall off my house?" Erik yells back.

_No_ , Apocalypse says. Erik nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Apocalypse's voice in his head. _That was because I needed to distract you_.

Erik turns to look across the ruined foyer. He can sense Charles' chair on the other side now, the metal shape familiar after all these years. Charles is staring back at him, expressionless and unnaturally still.

"Charles?" he asks. Then, shouting mentally, _Charles!_

_He can't answer right now,_ Apocalypse says.

Erik stares across the debris strewn room at Charles for a moment before reaching out for the magnetic currents to fly over to his side. He grabs Charles' shoulders, shaking a bit. Charles' head lolls a bit sickly, and now that he's close Erik can see that his eyes are black pits, staring forward unseeingly.

"What did you do?" he demands, voice calm despite the panic clawing at his insides. Charles can't be... This is the sort of thing Erik spends so much time away from home to prevent. This sort of fight isn't supposed to touch his family, touch Charles. Erik's failed to protect Charles too many times already. He can't lose him now.

"I did tell you that I needed another horseman," Charles says. No, not Charles. Apocalypse, using Charles' mouth to speak. Erik's seen Charles do it before to other people and always found it an uncomfortable reminder of how powerful Charles is. It's even more disconcerting to see Charles himself controlled in that manner.

Charles’ head tilts a bit, thoughtfully, which is one of Charles’ habits and seeing him do while not in control of himself sets off a sick anger in Erik’s gut. “Have you changed your mind?” Apocalypse asks, still using Charles’ mouth to speak. “Do you want to renegotiate?”

“Let him go.”

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Apocalypse says, still using Charles' mouth to speak. "He's incredibly powerful."

“I’m the one you wanted.”

“You were,” Apocalypse agrees. “Things change.” Charles’ lips curl into a smile. His eyes remain black.

Erik glances back over his shoulder at Apocalypse's actual body, raising a hand and reaching for the metal in the armor Apocalypse wears this time. He's barely had a chance to grab hold and squeeze before Charles reaches up, fingertips settling against Erik's temple, and Erik feels his awareness of the metal draining away like water through his fingers. He jerks out of Charles' reach, stumbling backwards. Charles smirks.

"Sorry, Magneto," Apocalypse says, the name sounding completely out of place in Charles' accent. Charles fingers go towards his own temple, and the last thing Erik’s aware of is looking at the empty black void where his blue eyes should be, and thinking, _No._


	4. Chapter 4

**_Erik_ **

Erik wakes up to Hank’s blue, furry face hovering above him. “Oh good,” Hank says. “You’re awake.”

“Wha--” Erik tries to push himself up -- he’s lying on one of the tables in Hank’s lab -- but Hank keeps him down with a firm hand on his chest.

“Don’t move too quickly. We still have no idea what Charles did to you.”

“Where is he?” Hank doesn’t answer right away, so Erik pulls himself up and reaches over to grab his arm. “Where is Charles?”

Hank shakes his head a bit. “We don’t know. Raven saw Apocalypse take him, but we couldn’t follow them.” At the look on Erik’s face, he adds, “We were all frozen in place; couldn’t move a muscle.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Hank confirms. “Even down in the tunnels.”

For a brief moment all Erik can think is that he didn’t know Charles could do that to so many people at once, but then he remembers that of course it wasn’t Charles doing it; it was Apocalypse, possessing Charles and using his power. For all Erik knows, Charles is already dead and Apocalypse is using his body like a puppet. The thought makes his stomach clench up hard enough he feels nauseous. 

There’s a noise at the door, and then David is forcing his way in and darting around Hank to clamber up onto table next to Erik, clinging to him. Erik's arms come up to rest around him automatically.

Lorna trails behind her brother, looking around at Erik and Hank suspiciously. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

Erik doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say.

“Are you alright? Where’s Dad?” she asks. “Raven won’t tell us anything.”

Erik still doesn't answer, so it's Hank that says, "We're not sure exactly where he is at the moment. I'm sure he's fine." 

It's not a lie, technically. It still makes Erik feel sick.

Hank takes her by the arm and tries to steer her back out of the lab. “Why don’t you go find Raven. I’m sure she needs help making sure everyone’s in their rooms.”

Lorna twists out of Hank's hold and turns back to Erik. "No. I want to know what happened. How do you not know where Dad is? What happened to him?"

Erik stares back at her steadily and tightens his hold on David, who’s twisted around to watch his sister. Lorna's looking at Erik like he's going to have the answers, and he doesn't have anything for her. _What would Charles say?_ he wonders, then kicks himself for thinking it. Charles isn't here to say anything. Charles might very well be gone completely and will never say anything again. 

Lorna looks scared at Erik's silence. He needs to say something, reassure her. He needs to fix it.

"Papa?" she asks.

"It will be okay," Erik lies.

\---

That night, after they've gotten all the students back into their rooms and come to the joint decision that there's nothing they can do tonight when they don’t have the first clue as to where Apocalypse would have taken Charles, Erik finds himself standing in the doorway of his and Charles' bedroom, staring at the empty bed. The covers are still mussed, because neither Erik nor Charles ever take the time to make them up in the morning. He stands there for a few minutes that seem to pass in the blink of an eye, then there's a noise to his right and he turns to find David looking up him.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" David asks.

Erik wishes he had it in him to fake being happy, or confident about getting Charles back, but he just doesn't. His powers have returned, thankfully. He can feel the familiar hum of all the metal in the room -- the grate on the fireplace, studs in the walls, Charles’ cufflinks scattered across the top of the dresser. Whatever Apocalypse had done to drain them away has faded, but Erik’s powers are of no use for this situation. They aren’t the kind that are able to find people; that’s Charles’ area of expertise.

"Sure," he tells David.

David grabs Erik's hand and pulls him towards the bed. He settles onto Charles' side, burrowing under the blankets. Erik strips down to his shirt and underwear before climbing in next to him. David clings to him instantly, wiggling around until he's got himself tucked under Erik's arm, curled against his side.

It takes awhile, but eventually David drops off to sleep, and Erik's left to stare up at the ceiling alone.

Maybe Charles is fine. Charles has certainly survived worse than an abduction before. He's survived being shot, Erik reminds himself. Which was Erik’s own fault, of course, just like this was. He was one who’d taunted Apocalypse in Egypt, the one who’d told Storm about how powerful Charles is. He’s the one who brought Betsy here, not even guessing that she was a spy whose only goal was to find out where they lived and get the others in. The list of things Erik’s done wrong lately is only growing the longer he thinks about it. He might as well have handed Charles over on a silver platter.

He's startled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door, then Lorna’s opening it just far enough to come inside. Erik lifts his head up to look at her, and she makes her way across the room to climb up on his other side, curling up the same as David has. She doesn't say anything, and Erik just shifts to wrap an arm around her shoulders as well and clutch her closer to him.

\---

The first day after Charles is taken, Erik calls every contact he can think of to ask if they’ve heard anything about Apocalypse. He gets nothing.

The second day, he tries coercing Jean into Cerebro, with the thought that Charles has speculated before that she’d be able to use the machine one day and that day needs to be today. She can find Charles. Jean’s only hooked up to the machine for a minute before she starts screaming, and Erik’s forced to turn it off. Hank spends about thirty minutes yelling at him for being reckless, then sends all the students and other staff home.

By the third day, Erik’s gotten desperate. He digs through the drawers of Charles’ desk until he finds his rolodex, then flips through it until he finds _Moira MacTaggert_. He stares at the number for a while, forces himself not to think about the last time he’d seen Moira -- right after she’d shot Charles, kneeling in the sand and pulling Charles from his arms -- then dials.

Moira and Charles are still friends, somehow, despite Moira’s role in causing his paralysis and Charles erasing her memories and then restoring them years later, but only partially; Moira still doesn’t know where the mansion is. They have lunch dates in the city every other month or so, and Charles always takes the kids with him for it. Erik’s assumed that Moira knows he’s living with Charles, but he’s never tried to tag along and meet her again.

Moira answers with a curt, “MacTaggert.”

“Hello, Agent MacTaggert,” Erik says.

There’s a pause while she waits for Erik to say something else, then, “Who is this?”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

The pause is longer this time. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Erik’s not interested in small talk with her. “I need to know what the CIA has on a mutant named Apocalypse.”

Moira scoffs a bit. “You need to know… I should trace this call. I don’t care that Charles seems to think you’ve changed, you’re still wanted for Kennedy’s assassination, the attempted one on Nixon, and whatever charge they came up with for destroying the White House and unleashing killer robots on the public.”

“Destruction and misuse of federal property,” Erik supplies. “And no one cares about Nixon. What do you know about Apocalypse?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“He took Charles.”

Moira’s quiet after that, and Erik drums his fingers against the desk impatiently. “I need to know where he is, how powerful he is, who he has with him,” he tells her. “Any intel you have.”

“What did he do to Charles?” Moira asks.

“Possessed him, froze everyone in the school, and took off while none of us could fight back.” It feels strange to boil a scene that Erik keeps reliving in his nightmares down to the essential facts like this.

“Possessed--”

“He took over his mind, used Charles’ power against him.”

“I didn’t know Apocalypse was a telepath,” Moira says.

“What do you know?”

“Not much,” Moira admits. “And nothing I can tell you over an open line. I’ve already said too much.”

Erik starts to protest, but Moira talks over him to say, “Meet me at the same place Charles and I usually go. Tomorrow at noon.”

“This can’t wait until tomorrow,” Erik says.

“Noon,” Moira repeats, before hanging up.

Erik listens to the dial tone for a long moment before slamming the phone back down. He picks it up and slams it again, then again, until he’s squeezed so tightly with his fist and his powers that the phone snaps in half, the jagged plastic biting into his palm but not breaking the skin.

\---

Erik has to ask Lorna where Charles usually meets up with Moira, which thankfully she knows because they always go to the same deli. Erik wishes he'd known they were doing that, since it's an easy way for someone to track them and Charles should know better. Moira should know better, for that matter, since she’s in the business of tracking people. He winds up taking Lorna along with him, partly to make sure he gets the address right and partly because having her along will make them look less suspicious to anyone watching.

“Why are you meeting Moira?” Lorna asks. “I didn’t think you liked her.”

“What makes you think that?” Erik asks. Most of his attention is focused on carefully directing the surrounding traffic out of his way.

“Every time we go to have lunch with her, you always sulk about being left behind.

“I don’t sulk.”

“You sigh a lot,” Lorna argues. “I don’t know why you don’t like her. Moira’s nice.”

Erik wants to tell Lorna to ask Moira about Cuba, about sending them on what the CIA had always considered a suicide mission. Have the mutants take out the Russians and then take out the mutants, what better way to kill two birds with one stone and keep the American public in the dark. He wants to see the look on Moira’s face when Lorna asks for an explanation, see her try to deny her involvement.

But it’s a fleeting, vindictive desire, and petty, so instead, he says, “Moira and I disagree on politics.”

Lorna crosses her arms and looks back out the window. “You disagree with everyone on politics.”

“Are you watching for this place?” Erik asks, sick of talking about Moira. It’s bad enough he’s had to ask her for help.

“It’s two more blocks south,” Lorna says. She points out the window. “You just missed a parking spot.”

Erik nudges a few cars on the next block forward until there’s room for him to park. Lorna hops out of the car before he’s put the brake on, swinging her door shut with her powers and trotting off down the street. Erik has a brief moment of disbelief that she’s running off -- she could get lost in the crowd and kidnapped by someone and how would he find her? He can't even find Charles -- before he grabs ahold of her bracelet with his own powers, forcing her to stop.

When Erik gets to the sidewalk, Lorna’s already taken the bracelet off and has her arms crossed, glaring at him.

“Don't run off,” Erik says, handing it back to her.

“I don't need you to hold my hand to cross the street,” Lorna says. “The restaurant is _right there_.”

Erik takes a deep breath and reminds himself that she's thirteen. According to Charles, being a thirteen-year-old girl is incredibly difficult and they have to let her figure it out and not yell at her for every stupid thing she does. Erik’s not so sure what makes being thirteen some special pass to act like a brat, but knows that his own childhood isn't the best example to judge by.

“Let's go then,” he says.

Lorna spots Moira before Erik does, waving at her as soon as they walk in. 

Moira stands up and gives Lorna a hug when they get to the table. “How are you doing?” she asks.

Lorna shrugs.

Erik nudges her shoulder to get her to slide into the booth, before sliding in after her. “What have you got?” he asks Moira.

“Nice to see you too, Lehnsherr,” Moira says, but she pulls a folder out of her bag and passes it across to him. “It's mostly what I've managed to dig up on his background, which goes back around four thousand years.”

Erik raises an eyebrow at that, opening the folder. It's mostly clippings from newspapers, highlighted photocopies from textbooks and copies of letters. He pauses on a photocopy from an art book, four figures on horseback.

“His followers,” Moira explains. “He always has four.”

“The four horsemen of the apocalypse,” Erik mutters, remembering what Apocalypse had said in Egypt, what feels like a decade ago. He was looking for another horseman, and when Erik said no, he’d taken Charles instead.

Moira reaches over and pulls the folder back, flipping through it until she gets to a page with translated Egyptian hieroglyphics. “His real name is En Sabah Nur. The Egyptians worshipped him as some sort of god.”

“He's not a god,” Erik says.

“He calls himself one. And he's definitely a mutant,” Moira says. “These are the oldest records we've been able to find mentioning someone with powers.”

“So what, he was the first mutant or something?” Lorna asks.

“Or so he claims,” Erik says. So far Moira hasn’t told him anything that Apocalypse himself hadn’t revealed at that first meeting.

As though picking up on his thoughts -- though of course she couldn't, Charles is the one who does that -- Moira moves a couple more papers out of the way, finding a map. “We’ve been tracking him through Egypt for about six months.” She looks up at Erik. “Your demolition work didn't go unnoticed. My bosses are convinced that you're working with him now.”

Erik doesn't look up from studying the map. “They can think what they want.”

“We’ve got a location for his stronghold anyway,” Moira says, tapping a spot on the map on the outskirts of Cairo. “He’s building something; there have been shipments arriving. We also suspect that he’s running drugs to fund everything, but haven’t been able to confirm it.”

“What’s he building?”

Moira shrugs. “If I knew I’d tell you.”

Erik pulls the scattered papers back into a neat stack and closes the folder. “Is this all you have?” He can admit that the lead on Apocalypse’s location has been worth this entire visit, but that appears to be the only useful information Moira has. Knowing what Apocalypse’s plans are too would be even more helpful, but as long as he has a location Erik can get in and get Charles out.

Moira nods. “Unfortunately. I haven’t been able to find anything else.”

“Call if you do,” Erik says, standing up. “Let’s go,” he says to Lorna.

“I want to help,” Moira says, standing as well.

“You have,” Erik tells her. He waves the folder a bit.

“I can do more than gather information.” Moira has her hands on her hips, expression set into a fierce frown.

Erik remembers how she’d kept up with them before Cuba, holding her own even when surrounded by mutants more powerful than she’d ever be. And remembers her betrayal on the beach. Charles might have forgiven her and stayed friends, but Erik looks at her and sees the catalyst for one of the worst days in his life.

“If you find out more, call,” he says, before turning to go.

Lorna hangs back to say goodbye to Moira before chasing after Erik. She’s quiet on the walk back to the car, but stops as they walk past a bakery. “We should get a cake.”

Erik turns to look at her, baffled by the statement. “Why?”

“It’s David’s birthday,” she says, like it’s obvious. And it is, or it should be, but Erik has completely forgotten.

He looks at the cakes in the window with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He forgot his son’s birthday, and while there’s a good excuse Erik knows it doesn’t really hold up. David hadn’t mentioned anything this morning, but he’s been quiet and withdrawn since Charles was taken, barely talking and clinging to Erik at every opportunity.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Lorna says.

Erik doesn’t say anything, still staring at the cakes in the window.

Lorna bites at her lower lip before patting Erik on the arm. “It’s alright.”

It’s really not, but Erik appreciates her saying it. “Do you know what kind of cake he wants?”

“I don’t think he’ll care as long as it’s chocolate,” Lorna says.

\---

“It’s not my birthday,” David says, when they get back and show him the cake.

“Yes it is,” Lorna says. “Look, we got you German chocolate ‘cos I know you like coconut. And they wrote your name on it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why not?” Lorna asks. “You love cake.”

Erik crouches down so that he’s eye-level with David, intending to ask what’s wrong, but before he can say anything David’s launches himself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “I don’t want cake,” David says, voice hitching a bit and face buried against Erik’s shoulder.

Erik rubs his back. “Okay, you don’t have to eat it. It’s fine.”

“I want Daddy.”

“I’m sorry.” Erik holds him tighter. “I’m going to get him back. I promise,” he adds, though he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t promise anything. He can’t even promise that Charles is still alive, and while he knows that in his head, he can’t reconcile it emotionally. Charles _has_ to be alive. Erik _has_ to be able to get him back. He can’t do this on his own. He’s only been on his own for less than a week and already he’s proved to be a failure, forgetting his own son’s birthday and using his daughter to distract from his clandestine meeting with the CIA. None of this works without Charles, not the school, not their family, not Erik himself.

David pulls back, and while his face is red, his eyes are dry and his mouth is set into a firm line. “I’ll have a birthday once he’s back.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Charles_ **

Charles wakes up alone. Completely alone, with not even the slightest whisper of anyone else’s mind nearby. It's a sensation he hasn't experienced in nearly a decade.

He's lying on his back, and spends what seems like a long time staring at the ceiling above him. It's mirrored, for some reason, and he’s staring at his own reflection without really seeing it. The pain in his head is making it feel like the world is contracting and expanding around him, compounded by dizziness that makes him feel like he's on a boat, rocking back and forth with the waves. The nausea is only growing worse the longer he’s awake, and he swallows against it, trying not to grimace at the dry and tacky feeling in his mouth.

Charles isn’t sure how long he lays there before he finally steels himself against the pain and sits up. Getting a good look at the room does nothing to help his dizziness; it’s made entirely of mirror, even the floor. His own reflection staring back at him, repeated into infinity.

It’s blocking his telepathy, he realizes.

Charles gives himself exactly one minute to panic about being trapped in a tiny room, sealed off from the rest of the world and with his powers rendered useless. Then he starts looking for a way out.

His chair is nowhere to be seen, of course. It takes him a bit to find the door, since it’s mirrored just like the rest of the room, but he finally spots the hinges and crawls across the floor towards it, twisting the handle to no avail. Charles slumps against the wall, looking around the room for anything else he can use. Maybe he could break the glass -- the mirror must be made of glass, which means it’s fragile -- but the only other thing in the room is the lumpy mattress he was laying on earlier. He tries banging his fist against the wall and the floor, but that only gets him a bruised hand.

The banging must let his captors know he’s awake though, Charles realizes, when he hears a key scratching at the other side of the lock.

His instincts are telling him to move, to get as far away from whoever is about to come in as possible, but there’s only a couple feet to the other side of the room so it’s not as though moving will do him any good. He stays where he is, and when the door swings open he’s already reaching out with his telepathy. The first mind he encounters is Apocalypse, and he shies away, going for the next person he can find. Storm, who’s following Apocalypse inside the room, stops in her tracks as Charles grabs hold of her mind.

Her power is control over the elements, able to create everything from rain to lightning to a hurricane. Before Charles can even attempt to use her to strike against Apocalypse, he feels Apocalypse in his own head, forcing him to let go of Storm like prying a child’s fingers away from a toy. When Charles tries to grab hold again, it’s as if there’s a wall blocking him.

“Stop that,” Apocalypse says.

“Make me,” Charles grits out, trying again only to be batted away, like having his hand slapped.

“I already have.”

Charles gives up on Storm and searches further away. They’re in some kind of compound; he got that much from her mind before being forced out. Betsy is somewhere nearby, but her mind is shielded with her own telepathy. There’s another boy with her, and Charles has just taken control of him when Apocalypse loses patience and picks him up by the neck, slamming him up against the mirrored wall.

Charles’ snaps back into only his own mind with a gasp, but can’t draw any air in around the grip Apocalypse has on him. He digs his fingernails into Apocalypse’s hand, trying to pry his fingers away, but Apocalypse doesn’t even flinch.

Apocalypse shakes him a bit, acting like it doesn’t take him any effort at all to hold Charles up with only one hand. “Stop,” he says again. “These are your fellow horsemen. I’ll give you plenty of weak-minded people to control soon.”

He lets go and Charles drops to the ground, landing on his side with a jarring pain. It takes him a minute before he can push himself back up, and when he does he tells Apocalypse, “I’m not one of your bloody horsemen.”

Apocalypse crouches down until he’s only towering over Charles by a foot, instead of several. He smiles, the expression pulling at the armor that seems to be a part of his skin, like an exoskeleton. “You are death,” he says. He reaches out to stroke Charles’ hair back from his face, fingers brushing at his temple, and Charles can’t stop himself from flinching back. “Able to kill millions with just a thought.” His smile widens a bit. “You’re my most powerful follower yet.”

Charles starts to protest again, but stops himself. It’s not doing any good. _What would Erik do?_ he wonders, but he already knows the answer. Play along, find out as much information as possible, and turn on them as soon as the opportunity arrises.

“And what do I get out of following you?” Charles asks. “So far you’ve broken into my home, kidnapped me, and locked me in this cell. I fail to see how any of this was meant to make me want to join you.”

“Because you like being in control,” Apocalypse says. “Of people, of events…”

“I don’t like being controlled by you,” Charles says.

“But you do like controlling others. Just look at Magneto. Such a powerful man, and you have him at your beck and call.”

Charles almost laughs, because the last thing he has control over is Erik. Erik’s always done whatever he wanted, Charles merely has Erik’s consideration now, which doesn’t always amount to much.

“You take children and turn them into exactly what you want them to be,” Apocalypse continues.

“I teach them,” Charles argues.

“The things you _want_ them to know,” Apocalypse says. He spreads his hands, still crouched down next to Charles. “I can help you control the entire world. You can make it so that no one even considers harming your children ever again.” He taps a hand against Charles’ knee. “And I will fix you.”

“Fix?” Charles asks, though he knows exactly what Apocalypse is talking about.

“We will get you a new body,” Apocalypse says. He stands up straight again.

“And if I don’t want one?”

Apocalypse looks a bit bemused by him now, like Charles is a silly child that he’s indulging. “Repairing this one will take more energy, but it’s achievable.” He waves Storm forward, and she drops a tray of food down next to Charles before retreating again. “Consider my offer, little telepath. I would rather work together with you, help you to amplify your power, but if you won’t offer your loyalty then I _will_ take it.”

He leaves before Charles can say anything else, the lock clicking shut again behind him.

\---

**_Erik_ **

It’s Hank’s idea to go to D.C. Now that they have a good idea of where Apocalypse is and where he’s likely holding Charles, the plan basically consists of going in, getting Charles out, and razing the place to the ground. At least, that’s Erik’s plan. If he had his way he’d already be in Egypt, but Hank insists they need more help in the form of the same kid who’d helped them break Erik out of the Pentagon.

“He’s fast,” Hank explains. “He can get inside and get Charles out and no one will even realize he was there until he’s already gone again.”

“And what makes you think he’ll help us?” Erik asks.

“Well, he did once before.”

They do need more help. Right now it’s just Erik, Hank, and Raven, plus Jean and Scott, who have insisted on helping instead of being sent away with the other kids. The loyalty Charles inspires in these kids is admirable, Erik thinks, but not surprising; Jean and Scott have been his students since nearly the beginning. Charles practically raised them.

Erik finds himself standing on the welcome mat of a generic looking split-level house in the suburbs of D.C. with Hank and Raven. He glances back to the car where Lorna and David are waiting in the backseat -- it’s stupid to bring them along, he knows that. He should have left them at the hotel with Jean and Scott, but he can’t bring himself to let them out of his sight for that long. They’d be safer away from him, locked in a house somewhere and far away from this rescue mission.

Erik tries to squint through the window in the front door. “You're sure this is the right house?” he asks.

“It’s the only Maximoff in the phone book,” Hank says. “He’s older now though, he might not live here anymore.”

Erik’s about to say something about how finding one mutant with a fairly unique name shouldn't be that hard when the door opens. There's a teenage girl peering out at them.

“Who are you?” she asks.

Erik puts on the face he uses for recruiting. “We’re looking for Pietro Maximoff. Is he here?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.” She starts to close the door again but Hank sticks his foot between the door and the jam to keep it open.

“Do you know where we can find him?” Hank asks.

The girl frowns at them, then says, “Wait here.” She leaves the door cracked open as she steps back into the house and shouts for her mother. Erik can hear a woman asking who’s at the door, and the girl telling her that the cops are looking for Pietro again.

He frowns at Hank. “Cops?”

Hank shrugs. “He’s a kleptomaniac. Did I forget to mention that?”

“We don’t look anything like cops,” Raven mutters, sounding a bit offended at the suggestion.

There’s another woman at the door now. “Whatever he did, we don't know anything about it,” she says. Then she gets a good look at them and her eyes widen.

Erik freezes, staring at her. Magda -- because it’s unmistakably Magda standing in front of him, a couple decades older but still the same eyes and chin and untamable curly hair -- stares back at him, both of them too stunned to speak.

“We’re not cops,” Hank says. “We just need to talk to him.” He frowns, looking between Erik and Magda and clearly picking up on the tension. “Um…”

“Erik,” Magda says.

“Hello,” Erik manages to say around the lump in his throat. He hasn't seen Magda since she left him, nearly 30 years ago now.

“You know each other?” Raven asks.

Magda doesn't look at Raven. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

Erik takes a deep breath. Right. He has bigger problems than running into his ex-wife right now. He needs to find Charles, and he needs to kill Apocalypse for even thinking about taking Charles in the first place, and he needs as much help as he can get, since his attempts to fight Apocalypse on his own have already proved futile. “I’m looking for Pietro.”

Magda crosses her arms. “Why?”

“We need his help,” Erik says. He frowns, connecting the dots finally, and asks, “He’s your son?”

Erik had once been able to tell what Magda was thinking, but he’d lost that ability long before she’d left him and the expression on her face is entirely closed off. “You came here looking for him and didn’t know that?”

“I can honestly say that I had no idea,” Erik tells her. 

She frowns, but steps back to let them into the house finally. “He’s downstairs. Wait here.”

“Thanks,” Hank says, stepping into the house ahead of Erik. When Magda disappears around a corner he whirls on Erik. “How do you know his mother?”

“We were married,” Erik says.

Raven turns to him, wide-eyed in shock, while Hank’s face runs through a gamut of emotions before settling on disbelief. “You _what_? When?”

“A long time ago.”

“I'm really going to need more of an explanation than that,” says Hank.

“There's really not much more of one to give,” Erik says, distracted by looking around the house. It’s cluttered, but Magda always had hated to get rid of anything.

“Does Charles know?” Raven demands.

“Not exactly.”

She raises her eyebrows. “All this time and you’ve just failed to mention your ex-wife?”

“It never came up,” Erik says defensively. He hadn’t purposefully hidden it, but it was the past. Magda was a part of his life before he knew there were other mutants, when he’d thought he was alone and that his powers were a curse. They’d met in the camp, been reunited after, and gotten married far too young because neither of them had anyone else. He’d been single-minded in his pursuit of revenge and she’d left him because of it. It’s a part of his life that he tries to think about as little as possible.

There’s a bit of a breeze behind him, and he turns to find Pietro, looking about the same as Erik remembers -- shaggy silver hair and goggles -- grinning at him. “Heya Pops.”

Erik stares at him, utterly confused by the greeting.

“Well, that’s out I guess,” Magda says from behind him, and Erik whirls around to look at her again.

“What?”

She gestures between Pietro and Erik, shrugging a bit.

Hank’s looking between all of them a bit frantically, putting the pieces together before anyone else. “No way…” he mutters.

“Way, man,” Pietro says. “Way.”

“Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Erik demands.

“Can we do this like Darth Vader?” Pietro asks. “That would be way cooler. _Pietro! I am your father!_ Or I guess I should do it.” He claps Erik on the shoulder, and Erik turns to look at him. “ _Magneto, I am your son_ ,” he says, pitching his voice unnaturally low.

Erik hears Raven saying, “You have got to be shitting me,” but doesn’t pay any attention. He’s still staring at Pietro. There’s no way… Except there _is_ , if Magda is his mother. There’s very much a way, they’d been married after all, no matter how dysfunctional the entire thing had been. But… 

That seems to be all Erik can think. But… This shouldn’t be happening. He’s _done_ this before, dammit, it can’t be happening to him again. It just can’t.

“You…” he finally manages to say.

“Me,” Pietro says, nodding solemnly. The serious attitude lasts for about a second before he’s grinning again and saying, “Hey, did you meet Wanda yet? I mean, I don't think she really wants to meet you but that's just because she didn't share our awesome father-son prison break experience.” He gestures between himself and Erik. “We totally bonded.”

Erik looks at Magda a bit desperately. He's not sure what he's hoping she’ll do. Say it's a joke maybe.

Instead she says, “I had twins.”

This is different than the last time, he thinks. And what does it say about his life that this is the _second_ time he’s discovered he has a child he didn't know about. Children, twins, right. There's more than one this time. And they're not four years old, young enough that they don’t really remember much from before he was there, they're-- Christ, they must be nearly thirty.

“You had twins,” he repeats.

Magda nods. She finally looks something other than apathetic about the whole thing and says, “Don’t look at me like that, Erik. I didn’t know where to find you.”

Which is the same thing Charles had said, and it’s just as much of a bullshit excuse coming from Magda as it was from him. “ _You_ left _me_ ,” he reminds her. Magda had packed a bag and said she couldn’t do this anymore, he was too angry, too obsessed with getting back at everyone who had hurt him, and she couldn’t watch him wallow anymore. She needed to move on with her life, she had said, and she couldn’t do it while Erik kept dragging her back into the past. Then she’d walked out the door, and he’d never seen her again. Until today.

Magda crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back against the wall a bit. “Well,” she says, “I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Erik repeats. “Or what, you would have stayed?”

“No,” she says. She scoffs a bit. “God no, you were a mess. Kids would have made it worse.”

“Gee, thanks Mom,” Pietro says.

Magda rolls her eyes, but otherwise ignores Pietro. “Look, I moved to America before I even realized I was pregnant, and by then I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Erik asks.

She shrugs. “It’s just what happened.”

There’s a knock on the door before Erik can think of a reply, and they all turn to find Lorna and David standing in the doorway. Erik looks at them for a moment and realizes he has absolutely no idea what to do next. Introduce them to their new brother? To his ex-wife? What should he even say?

“You’re supposed to be waiting in the car,” Erik tells them.

“We were,” Lorna says. “But you’ve been in here forever and David needed to pee.”

“No I--” David cuts himself off as Lorna elbows him, and glances up at her before saying. “I mean, yes. Yes I do.”

Erik knows they’re lying, but he can't seem to care. He feels like he’s been run over by a truck, at least emotionally. He wishes Charles were here, even more than he has been, because Charles would know what to do. Wouldn't he?

Thankfully Raven seems to realize that Erik is going to be useless and gives him an out. “As fun as this has been,” she drawls, “we should really get going.”

“Yeah,” Erik says. He shakes himself a bit, mentally, and refocuses. He’s here to recruit Pietro to help rescue Charles. The rest he can deal with later, once Charles is safe.

“Pietro,” Hank says, “we could use your help again, if you're willing.”

“Another prison break?” Pietro asks, face lighting up a bit in excitement.

“I don't want to hear this,” Magda says.

“It's nothing illegal,” Hank tries to reassure her.

Magda raises an eyebrow, but only says to Pietro, “You know what I think about it.”

Pietro frowns. “It's not your decision.”

She sighs, then waves a hand at them dismissively. “Go do what you want, it’s not like you ever listen to me anyway. I'm not bailing you out when you get arrested again.” She turns away, heading into the kitchen, where the girl who had let them inside has been eavesdropping. Erik feels like he should say something else to her, goodbye maybe, but the words stay stuck in his throat until it's gone too long to say anything, and she’s shut the door behind her.

“So who’s locked up this time?” Pietro asks. “Since it’s not Pops here.”

“Please don't call me that,” Erik says.

“Pops?” Lorna asks.

Erik turns to look at her and David. He doesn't have the first idea how to explain this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is officially AU now that XMA is out. I was super disappointed that Charles and Erik weren't married in the movie.

**_Erik_ **

Pietro winds up being the one to explain things to Lorna and David, once they’re back at the hotel, which he does with an eloquent, “Magneto and my mom, they did it.”

“Did what?” David asks.

“Ew,” Lorna says, making a face.

“What did they do?” David asks again.

“He means sex,” Lorna explains.

“Oh,” David nods, like he knows what she’s talking about.

Erik can picture it now. He’ll get Charles back and Charles will demand to know who told their seven-year-old -- no, eight-year-old, David’s birthday was yesterday and Erik needs to stop forgetting that no matter what else is happening -- what sex was and did they explain it properly, with the diagrams Charles uses to teach the students sex-ed. And the answer will be no, no one used diagrams because the person that told him was the obnoxious son Erik just learned he has with his ex-wife. And Charles will say, ‘what ex-wife?’ and Erik will try to explain, but the only thing that will matter to Charles is that Erik never told him before and he’ll make Erik sleep in one of the spare bedrooms for a week until he either gets over it or is just horny and lets Erik back in.

“So hey,” Pietro says. “That makes you my little bro! I always wanted a little brother.”

Jean and Scott are watching them all, wide-eyed. “What did we miss?” Jean asks, a bit trepidatiously. 

“Apparently Papa has an ex-wife,” Lorna says. She smiles as she says it, but it’s sarcastic and drops off her face quickly, and when she looks over at Erik, it’s with something between disappointment and betrayal. Erik almost prefers the sarcasm.

He turns away from her to ask Hank, “How long before we can leave?”

“And cut short the most awkward family reunion ever?” Raven asks.

Erik glares at her, but she just grins, always a slightly dangerous expression on her, and asks, “So how many illegitimate children do you have, Erik? Is there another ex-wife we should go check on? Maybe one with triplets?”

“Four,” Hank answers. “He has four.

Raven looks at him questioningly, and Hank explains, “I mean, I suppose that if he was married to Pietro’s mother then they're not really illegitimate. But he’s not married to Charles so…”

“You can stop discussing this now,” Erik tells them. Hank at least looks a bit apologetic. 

Raven doesn't look sorry in the slightest, but she does change the subject. “How long is the flight to Cairo?”

“We’re going to Cairo?” Pietro asks, suddenly standing right next to Erik.

At any other time Erik might marvel over Pietro’s powers, but right now everything the boy does is… It’s not that it’s annoying, though that’s sort of what it feels like, but looking at Pietro makes Erik feel something he can't afford to stop and analyze right now and Pietro clearly has no experience with being ignored.

“Yes,” Erik says. “That's where Charles was taken.”

Pietro slings an arm over Erik’s shoulder before saying, “Y’know, we should totally bring Wanda along too. Wait til you see her powers.” His grin is slightly manic. “She can do _anything_.”

\---

Erik meets his daughter -- his oldest daughter, and apparently older than Pietro by a few minutes, making her his oldest child -- in the alley behind the bar where she works. She crosses her arms and looks him up and down critically, the same way Magda had, and then asks Pietro, “This is him?”

“Hello,” Erik says. He thinks about sticking a hand out to shake, but thankfully realizes that's a stupid idea before he actually does it. Instead he stuffs his hands in his pockets and squares his shoulders, trying to look as unaffected by this entire thing as she apparently is.

“What do you want?” Wanda asks.

“He needs help rescuing Charles,” Pietro answers for him. “You know, the guy I told you about that asked me for help rescuing _him_ last time. The dude with the private plane.”

“I thought you broke him out of prison.”

“I mean, yeah.”

“And then he tried to kill the president.”

“I wasn't really--” Erik tries to say, but Pietro’s already talking over him.

“C’mon Wands, you can't hold a grudge for that. It was only Nixon.”

Wanda merely raises an eyebrow, expression still skeptical, which is when Erik realizes what's been nagging at him since he'd first seen her. She looks like his mother.

It’s the first thing that’s made knowing these two people are _his_ children feel real.

“You’ll come with us, right?” Pietro asks.

Wanda’s still staring at Erik. “I don't need a father,” she tells him.

“Okay,” Erik says, because he doesn't know what to tell her. He doesn't particularly need a grown daughter either. He doesn't need any of this right now.

“You're seriously helping him?” she asks Pietro.

Pietro nods. “Free trip to Egypt and we get to blow shit up.”

“Why would I want to go to Egypt?”

“Um, giant pyramids. Camels. I bet you I could run us up to the top of--”

Erik’s the one who cuts Pietro off this time. “Pietro said your powers would be useful. We need as much firepower as we can get.”

Wanda scoffs. “What did he tell you I can do?”

“Anything.”

“Anything, right,” she says sarcastically. “That's not exactly how it works.”

“How does it work then?” Erik asks.

“It doesn't,” Wanda says. She looks at Pietro for a long moment, then sighs, finally uncrossing her arms. “Alright, fine.”

\---

It's a long flight to Egypt, even with the enhancements that Hank has made to the Blackbird over the years.

David is elated that they're taking the Blackbird, instead of the small plane they usually use, and insists on sitting in the co-pilot seat next to Hank and asking questions about all the buttons and gauges until he finally falls asleep.

Erik sits in the back with the others. He’s lost in his own thoughts, holding his old helmet in his hands and turning it over and over. The metal is smooth under his fingers, the ridges and curves familiar. He hasn’t worn it in years, but he’d never been able to bring himself to throw it out either. It’s been sitting down in the basement, tucked into a closet where Charles would hopefully never find it. Erik knows how much he hates the thing.

He used to think he needed the helmet to keep Charles from interfering with his work, stopping him from doing what needed to be done. The things that Charles wasn’t willing to do. He used to think he’d need it, in case it ever came down to a fight between himself and Charles. Of course, that had never happened, and the only thing wearing the helmet had accomplished was making Charles think that Erik didn’t trust him.

“You do have a plan, right?” Pietro asks. “Last time that dude with the gross claws had a plan.”

“The plan is you go in, get Charles and get him to safety, and then I level the building,” Erik says. “Hopefully with Apocalypse still inside it.”

“And if that doesn't work?”

Erik looks over at Pietro, who can't seem to sit still. He’s strapped into his seat, but his legs are bouncing so fast they’re just a blur. “It will work,” he says.

“He’s right,” Raven says. “We need a plan b.”

“If you have any brilliant ideas, now would be the time to share with the class,” Erik tells her, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Jean’s the one who speaks up. “I can try and talk to the professor,” she says. “He’s been teaching me how,” she adds when Erik looks over at her. “I mean.” She bites her lip before continuing, “My range isn’t that great, but if we get close I could find out who’s in the building before anyone goes in.”

It’s a good idea, and Erik is about to tell her that, when Scott says, “What if Apocalypse does the same thing to you that he did to Professor Xavier?”

“Good point,” Raven tells him.

“But you just said we need a plan b,” Lorna argues. “Jean and I were talking and--”

“Scott’s right,” Erik says, for what he’s certain is the first and hopefully the last time in his life. “We can’t risk having him take control of Jean too.” Or kill her too, a part of Erik’s brain whispers to him. He pushes the thought away. Charles isn’t dead.

“And you’re not coming with us,” Raven tells Lorna. “So you can stop coming up with secret plans.”

“It wasn’t secret,” Lorna argues. “We just told you about it. And it’s a good plan! I can help.”

“You’re not coming with us,” Erik says.

“But--”

“No.”

“We need you to keep an eye on your brother,” Raven says, trying to placate her.

Lorna glares at them. “Why let me come at all then?”

Raven looks at Erik, because it had been his decision to bring the kids with them and she’d told him earlier that it was a stupid idea. But there’s nowhere else for them to go. The only people he’d feel comfortable leaving them with are here on this plane, and Erik’s a bit afraid that if he turns his back on them then next time he looks they’ll be gone, just like Charles.

“You’re going to stay with Jean and Scott when we get there.” Erik tells Lorna.

“Wait a sec,” Scott protests. “I’m not staying behind.”

At the same time Lorna argues, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I thought we were helping,” Jean adds. “I really can make sure that Professor Xavier is there before we go in. I can--”

“Stop!” Erik says, raising his voice to be heard over them all. They’re all glaring at him, but they do shut up. “You’re going to--”

“I'll watch them,” Wanda says, speaking up for the first time since they got in the plane. Everyone turns to look at her and she shrugs. “I won’t be much help if you’re fighting someone. Better to take these two.” She gestures at Jean and Scott. “At least they have useful powers.”

“Pietro said you can do anything,” Raven says.

“She can,” Pietro says.

“Not really,” Wanda protests. “It doesn’t quite… It’s not predictable. Everything I try to do just ends up making things worse.”

Erik frowns, wondering what exactly her powers are and why she seems so scared of them. If Charles was here he’d know how to ask, how to help her.

Wanda turns to Lorna with a tight smile. “We should probably just keep out of their way.”

“I don’t want to keep out of the way,” Lorna says. “I _can_ help, you know I can.” She turns to Erik, pleadingly.

He reaches out to grab her hand, a bit surprised that she lets him, and tells her. “I need to know that you’re safe.” Lorna starts to protest, but Erik keeps talking. “I won’t be able to focus if I’m worried about you, or about David. And I need to focus on getting your dad back, okay?”

“But I can help you,” Lorna says again.

“You’ll be helping me by staying with Wanda.” He squeezes her hand, and finally says, “Please?”

Lorna stares down at their hands for a moment before pulling away with a deep sigh. “Fine.”

\---

**_Charles_ **

Charles is pretty sure that he broke his ankle when Apocalypse dropped him. Or sprained it, at the very least. It’s red and swollen and hurts to look at, and for once he’s grateful not to be able to feel it.

He’s dragged himself back over to the mattress, and is lying on it staring up at the reflection of the room which is repeated into infinity, getting tinier and tinier as it goes. He tries to follow it down, but it’s impossible after the first couple of repetitions. 

He finds himself thinking -- rather uselessly, but what else is there to do while trapped in this room? -- about when Erik had mentioned wanting another baby. He doesn’t even know how many days ago that was now, time has seemed to blur together ever since he woke up in here.

Charles’ first instinct is to say no, absolutely not. If given the chance to go back… Well, he wouldn't change anything, but he also never would have made the conscious choice to get pregnant. He frowns. That’s not quite true. No, knowing what he does now, having had Lorna and David both, he’d go back and change the first time, when he’d miscarried. He hadn’t thought about it much at the time, he’d been preoccupied with being paralyzed, and all the surgeries and physical therapy, and it hadn’t felt real. He hadn’t even known he was pregnant before being told he wasn’t anymore. It wasn’t until he had Lorna that he’d realized what he’d actually lost then. But changing that would probably change everything. How different would things have turned out if he’d had a baby then? Would he have even tried to start the school or would he have been too busy with a baby? Would Erik have come home sooner and never gone to prison? Would he still have had Lorna and David?

It’s too many ifs, and Charles stops himself before he can travel too far down that path. It takes him a minute to recall how he even got started on this train of thought. Right, he thinks, Erik wants another baby.

The thing is, Erik’s _good_ with babies. Charles hadn’t thought he would be, since he hadn’t had any experience with one before -- at least, not that he’d mentioned to Charles. He’d been good with Lorna, but she had been four already, past the sleepless nights and eating every few hours and diapers. And Charles himself had been rather shit at taking care of an infant, if he was being honest about it -- Hank had been a godsend, those first few months -- so he hadn’t expected Erik to be much better. But after David was born, Erik had just seemed to know what to do. Everything from diaper changes to bottles to figuring out why David was crying and fixing it before he could get too worked up. Charles had been amazed and a bit envious of how easy Erik made it look.

Charles closes his eyes, and he can just about picture Erik lying on the couch with David curled up on his chest and Lorna tucked against his side, all of them sound asleep. He’d found them like that more than once, and every time Charles had just stopped to stare at them for a while.

If he gets out of here alive, Charles decides, he’s saying yes.

\---

Apocalypse comes to get him later, and brings Charles’ wheelchair with him. Well, he has one of his ‘horsemen’ drag it in, the boy Charles had tried to control earlier. Apocalypse calls him Angel, which Charles supposes is because of the enormous wings on the boy’s back, though they’re made of knives and not feathers. He looks about eighteen.

Considering the age of Apocalypse’s other followers, Charles has to wonder why exactly Apocalypse wants him so badly.

Apocalypse watches dispassionately while Charles hauls himself up and into the chair, and it’s the first time Charles has felt self-conscious about it in years. “Where are we going?” Charles asks, once he’s arranged his ankle in what looks like a comfortable position for a sprain. He figures they must be going somewhere.

“It is time we show the people the error of their ways,” Apocalypse says.

“What error?”

“They’re weak. The population is greater than ever, and yet the people are weaker than ever.”

“There are more mutants now than there ever have been before,” Charles points out.

“Just because they’re mutants doesn’t mean they’re strong,” Angel says.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do,” Charles tells them. It’s all about strength and weakness, but with no clear line of who is who. If Apocalypse isn’t talking about humans versus mutants, then Charles isn’t sure what distinguishes one from the other.

“You’ll see,” Apocalypse says, laying a hand on Charles shoulder.

The pain explodes in Charles’ head, and when it clears enough to think straight he’s trapped again, boxed up into a tiny corner of his own mind. He can see and hear what’s happening, but it feels very far away. Every attempt he makes at taking back control just causes more pain. Trying to move his own body is useless. He can feel Apocalypse’s hand still on his shoulder like a lead weight.

They’re outside somewhere. It’s just rocks and sand under them, but they’re overlooking a city. Charles can’t really hear what Apocalypse is saying, but he feels it when Apocalypse raises Charles’ own hand in a sweeping gesture. As he does, he reaches out with Charles’ telepathy to the city below. It’s more minds than Charles has ever tried to control on his own before, without Cerebro, and he marvels for a minute at the sheer _power_ of it.

_You’re beginning to understand,_ Apocalypse says.

Charles doesn’t ask how, doesn’t have to. Apocalypse is already saying, _You are more powerful than you’ve ever imagined. Let me show you._

Charles knows what he’s planning now, and starts clawing at the hold Apocalypse has on him. _Don’t do this_ , he tries to say. It feels like he’s drowning as he tries to say each word, losing air and being weighed down with more water, sinking even further under Apocalypse’s control.

“If they’re strong enough, they will have the mental fortitude to break free,” Apocalypse says, using Charles’ mouth.

_You can’t do this!_ Charles screams at him. He’s tearing at his own mind now, trying to escape, and he can feel Apocalypse’s amusement at his attempt. He can feel the confusion and fear from the people, compounding Charles’ own panic. _Let them go!_

“I will give them another minute,” Apocalypse says.

_No!_

“No?” Apocalypse says. “If that’s what you want…” He clenches his fist -- a needless gesture for Charles, his powers don’t require any movement -- and at the same time crushes the minds of everyone he’s been holding onto.

It feels like a wave crashing into Charles, buffeting him against the wall of Apocalypse’s hold on him. A wave that keeps coming, gaining strength with each death, with each mind added to it.

Charles passes out before it’s over.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Charles_ **

Charles wakes up in the same mirrored room, lying on the mattress once again. They leave him there for a long time before Apocalypse sends Angel back in with his chair again. Charles stares at it for a moment, not moving, before Angel says, “Hurry up.”

“Where are we going?” Charles asks.

“Apocalypse wants to see you.”

“Why? Does he have more people he wants to use me to kill?”

Angel pushes the chair towards him again. Charles climbs into it, and then follows when Angel turns to leave.

It’s the first time he’s gotten a look at the rest of the building. It’s mostly empty, small rooms with tiny windows, dark narrow hallways. His chair barely fits, and he pretends to struggle with it while he reaches out tentatively to Angel’s mind. He’s slapped aside by Apocalypse before he’s done more than brush the surface.

Angel leads him outside, then grabs the back of Charles chair, lifting him into the air with a rush of wind from his wings. Charles clings to the arms of his chair for dear life as the ground whizzes past below them, and finally tears his gaze away from watching things get smaller and smaller to look at where they're going.

There's a giant pyramid in the middle of what used to be the city, surrounded by debris from buildings and cars.

At least no one died when the city was destroyed, Charles thinks. They were already dead.

Angel flies straight into the pyramid, finally setting Charles down inside an echoing chamber with a roof so high it can't be seen. It must go all the way to the top.

Apocalypse is waiting for them, in front of a statue he appears to have made of himself. Charles would comment on it, as part of his plan to do what Erik would do and be as contrary as possible, but Apocalypse is standing in front of some sort of dais in the middle, covered in hieroglyphics. He spreads his hands above it. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” he says.

Charles eyes the hieroglyphics, but aside from a passing interest in Ancient Egypt as a child he’s never studied them and can’t tell what they mean. “It’s a table,” he says.

Apocalypse sighs, as though Charles is being exceedingly difficult. Charles counts it as a small win.

“It's not a table,” Betsy says angrily. Charles glances up at her, surprised she's talking because Apocalypse’s followers have remained mostly silent, letting their leader do the talking. “He’s going to take Magneto’s powers with it, then destroy all the puny weapons the humans have made to fight us.”

Charles turns to Apocalypse. “That's what this is about? You want Erik?”

Apocalypse tilts his head a bit, almost a nod. “He can rip the very Earth from its axis. He can destroy everything the humans have built. They think they can defeat me with their bombs and their guns, but no one can destroy God.”

“You're not God.”

“Have I not shown you my powers?”

“That doesn't make you God,” Charles says. Apocalypse looks set to continue arguing, or perhaps to demonstrate another show of his powers -- which Charles would rather avoid, after the last time -- so Charles adds, “There is no God.”

Apocalypse look almost fond as he gazes at Charles. “You've been told that by your scientists, by weak men trying to explain things they can't possibly understand. My powers are undeniable. I've built the great pyramids and had kings kneel at my feet. I've lead my children into greatness and given them powers beyond what any of your _scientists_ could create.”

“Erik’s not going to help you,” Charles says, trying to change the subject. Arguing with megalomaniacs never tends to end well, especially one that thinks he actually _is_ God and goes around calling himself Apocalypse.

“I've seen into your mind, all your memories. I think you underestimate what he'd do for you.”

“So what? I'm the bait?” Charles asks. “Erik’s not stupid enough to fall for that.”

“We shall see,” Apocalypse says.

\---

**_Erik_ **

“Erik,” Hank says, “you should come see this.”

Erik makes his way towards the cockpit of the plane, looking out the window. He's expecting to see Cairo spread out below them, but instead there's a giant pyramid where the city should be.

“Is that the great pyramid?” David asks, leaning forward in his seat as far as his seatbelt allows.

“No,” Erik says.

Raven shoves at his shoulder to get a look. “Holy shit.”

“Land us out here,” Erik tells Hank. “Pietro can get us closer.”

Once they've landed everyone climbs out of the plane and stares up at the pyramid. 

“Apocalypse did that?” Pietro asks.

Erik ignores his question, trying to herd Lorna and David back into the plane. “Stay here,” he tells them.

“But--” Lorna tries to protest.

“Stay inside the plane,” Erik says. “Don't leave it for any reason.”

“What if it's on fire?” Lorna asks, crossing her arms.

Erik levels her with a stern look. “I trust you're smart enough to figure out what to do if the plane is on fire.”

She sighs. “We’ll stay here.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll watch them,” Wanda says, heading back into the plane with the kids, and Erik nods at her, but doesn't say thanks.

He turns to Pietro. “Get us close, but preferably hidden.”

“Sure thing Pops,” Pietro says, reaching up to grab the back of Erik’s neck and his shoulder. Erik doesn't have a chance to admonish him for the stupid name before everything blurs around him and he’s suddenly somewhere else, feeling sick and dizzy.

Pietro’s already gone again, and a few seconds later Raven is at Erik’s side, doubled over as she tries not to get sick.

“Ugh,” she says. “That's an awful way to travel.”

“Efficient though,” Erik says, peering around the corner of the broken building Pietro has dropped them behind.

Hank stumbles as Pietro drops him off, followed quickly by Jean, Scott, and Pietro himself.

Despite his earlier hesitation to have Jean expose herself to Apocalypse, Erik asks her, “Can you tell if Charles is in there?”

She coughs as she recovers from traveling with Pietro, but brings her fingers to her temple as she searches for Charles. It's always odd, seeing her use the same gesture, a habit she undoubtedly picked up from Charles and that Erik knows neither of them actually need.

Jean goes stiff all of a sudden, her eyes being taken over with black. 

Scott shakes her. “Jean, fight him!”

“Nice of you to join us, Magneto,” Jean says.

“Apocalypse,” Erik says, trying not to panic over Jean being possessed as well. He’d suspected it would happen, but his desire to know for _certain_ that Charles alive had won out over Jean’s safety.

A slow smile spreads across Jean’s face. “Come inside,” Apocalypse says. “I have something glorious to show you.”

“I want Charles,” Erik says.

“Come and get him then.”

Jean’s body sags as her eyes close, and Scott catches her before she can hit the ground, lowering her gently. “Jean? Wake up!” He shakes her a bit, but Jean doesn't stir.

Hank kneels down next to them, touching his fingers to Jean’s pulse. “She’s alive. I think she’s just unconscious.”

“Leave her here,” Erik says.

“I'm not leaving her behind,” Scott argues.

Erik almost sighs, because he should have known that the teenagers would prove useless in battle. They're a liability, and he can't spend time or energy protecting them when he needs to focus on rescuing Charles. “Stay here with her,” he tells Scott. “Try to get back to the plane.”

“I can take them,” Pietro offers.

“I need you to go in and get Charles out.”

“And then what?” Hank asks. “We need to kill Apocalypse. Or he’ll just come after us again.” He looks around at the destruction surrounding them. “Or keep destroying everything.”

“There's a lot of metal in his pyramid,” Erik says. “I'm going to crush it.”

“You sure that's going to work?” Raven asks.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I think we need to go in and make sure he's dead. Your plan might just wind up burying him alive, and he'd get out eventually.”

“You want to fight him on his own ground?” Erik asks. “We have no idea what's inside that pyramid.”

“We're already on his ground,” Raven argues. “I'd rather break his neck myself and know for sure.”

Erik turns to Pietro. “Go get Charles,” he says. “For all we know Apocalypse will come out after him and we’ll wind up fighting out here anyway.”

Pietro gives him a salute before disappearing in a blur, too fast to see as he runs toward the pyramid.

There's a flash of lightning that strikes the ground next to them, sending them all flying in opposite directions. Erik looks up to find Storm flying above them, already gathering another lightning strike between her hands.

“Looks like we're fighting out here after all,” Raven mutters.

\---

**_Lorna_ **

Lorna watches Pietro disappear with Scott, and slumps down into one of the plane seats. “It's not fair,” she says.

Wanda merely raises an eyebrow at her.

“We should be helping,” Lorna says. “If Jean and Scott get to help then there's no reason I shouldn't be able to. My powers are way more useful than Scott’s _and_ I can actually control them. And what’s Pietro going to do? Run around them in circles?”

“He can do more than that,” Wanda tells her.

Lorna purses her lips, then stops herself because she doesn't want to look like she’s pouting. “We should be helping instead of sitting here, being useless.”

Wanda makes her way toward the cockpit. “You don't know how to fly this, do you?”

“I could lift it,” Lorna says. That’s as good as flying it, really.

“So that's a no.”

“Why do you want to fly it?” David asks. “Papa said to wait here.”

“Yes, and you always do what Papa says.” Lorna rolls her eyes. Her little brother is a goody two-shoes, and a tattletale on top of that.

David frowns at her. “He wouldn't tell us to stay here if it wasn't dangerous.”

“He's the one who brought us along in the first place instead of staying home,” Lorna argues.

“Because he was scared,” David says.

“Papa’s not scared.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He doesn't get scared.” Lorna’s seen him sad before, and angry, and happy, but never scared of anything.

“He does,” David tells her. “You just don't pay attention.”

“We should stay here,” Wanda says, breaking up their argument before Lorna can tell David that she pays attention plenty, and Papa has never been scared, not even when Apocalypse had destroyed half the house and taken Dad.

“I just wanted to try and have the plane running for when they got back,” Wanda continues. She frowns at the cockpit controls. “I guess that might burn too much fuel though.”

They settle into an uneasy silence. Lorna stares out the window, trying to see what's happening outside. The pyramid is too far away to see more than the top of it, looming over all the broken buildings. David starts asking Wanda about where she lives and what her powers are like and if she’s really his big sister.

Lorna finds herself eavesdropping. Wanda is answering David’s questions patiently, being nice to him, and he's soaking up the attention.

She slumps back in her chair, crossing her arms and staring at one of the broken cars outside until she’s not really seeing it anymore. It doesn't _matter_ that Wanda is their sister. It's not like she's going to stick around. Wanda and Pietro apparently knew Papa was their father for years and never tried to find them, or wanted anything to do with them, so they definitely won't stay. It doesn't change anything, except to make Lorna wonder about her father’s past. There are a lot of things Papa just won't talk about, like where he grew up or his own parents or much of anything before he met Dad.

She’s startled out of her musings by a loud screeching sound, and twists around to see a sparking purple blade slicing through the side of the plane.

Betsy, the girl who’d only been at the school for about a week, steps inside through the gaping hole. She smirks at them. “Hi kids.” Behind her, a man with wings lands just outside the plane. Lorna can’t help staring at him. His wings are made of metal, so much that it must be heavy, but he flicks one of them in the air like they’re weightless.

Wanda waves a hand towards them, muttering something under her breath, and the plane wall seals itself back up again. The man stumbles back, locked outside the plane again, but Betsy’s left inside with them.

Betsy glares at Wanda and tosses her sword at her. Wanda ducks and it goes flying through the windshield, spraying glass everywhere. David screams as he hits the floor, crawling under the console.

“Get back here!” Wanda shouts at Lorna.

Lorna tries to climb over the next seat and put some obstacles between her and Betsy, but Betsy grabs her ankle before she can make it over the seat and pulls. Lorna hits the floor hard, barely able to get her hands underneath her to keep from banging her head against the floor.

There’s a screeching sound from behind them and Lorna twists around to see that the winged man is slicing through the wall of the plane again.

Wanda waves her hands in some complicated gesture and shoots a bolt of red energy at Betsy. It explodes just in front her, and Lorna barely manages to turn her face away and raise an arm to shield herself. Betsy is flung backwards, landing a few feet away against the back of the plane.

She's up again in seconds, sending another purple blade at Wanda, who is forced to dive behind the pilot’s seat to avoid it. The winged man has finished cutting through the plane wall, and Betsy tells him, “Get the kids.”

Wanda shoots another energy blast at them both, which the winged man counters with a knife -- his wings are made of knives, Lorna can see now, not just metal -- and slices clean through the top of the pilot’s seat, barely missing Wanda’s head.

He grabs Lorna’s arm, jerking her to her feet, and pulls her forward as he reaches under the console to drag David out by his arm. 

“Let go!” Lorna shouts, beating her fist against his arm, trying to dislodge his grip. 

David tries to cling to the bottom of the console with his free hand, but his fingers slip. The winged man drags them both towards the back of the plane.

Wanda tries shooting another red energy bolt at him but Betsy deflects with a shield. “Go,” Betsy says. She snaps her hand out, creating a whip of purple energy, and turns back to Wanda with a smirk. “I'll take care of this one.”

The winged man drags Lorna and David both out of the plane, then takes off into the air. Lorna’s too terrified to even scream, staring at the ground growing further and further away in horror. She’s not sure whether she should keep trying to get away or if she should hold on for dear life.

The man carries them inside the giant pyramid, past what looks like Papa and the others fighting outside, and drops them to the ground inside a huge inner room. 

A few feet away Pietro is stuck, his leg twisted under him and trapped by what looks like part of the floor. He’s bent over, trying to break free, but looks up when Lorna and David are dropped to the floor. “Oh fuck,” he says.

David clings to Lorna’s arm as she climbs to her feet. Pietro’s staring back at her with a look of surprised horror.

“You have to get out of here!”

Lorna starts to ask what’s going on, but then David shouts, “Daddy!” and lets go of her, taking off running across the room. Lorna turns around in time to see him slam into Dad’s knees, reaching up to hug him.

Dad pats David on the head, and David pulls back to look up at him. He lets go, backing up a step. “You're…”

“Hello, David,” Dad says.

David takes another step back, and Lorna moves to close the distance between them, grabbing his arm. Dad is smiling at them, but there's something off. It's not until he rolls his chair forward that Lorna can see that his eyes are filled in with black.

Behind Dad another man is stepping forward. He’s tall and blue and ugly, with some sort of armour fused to his skin. _Apocalypse_ , Lorna realizes.

Apocalypse looks right at Lorna, an almost fond expression on his face. “Lorna, my child. Welcome.”

Lorna backs away, pushing David behind her. “Let my dad go,” she tells Apocalypse.

“Go?” Apocalypse asks. “What makes you think I'm holding him?” He gestures at Dad. “Look, he’s free to do whatever he likes. He’s chosen to stay here, to serve me. To help me rebuild this world into a better one.”

“No. He wouldn't--”

“Lorna,” Dad says. “It's alright. Apocalypse is going to save us.”

She stares at him. It sounds like her dad, and looks like her dad, but his eyes are still black and he’s moving stiffly. His wheelchair jerks forward in starts and stops as he moves closer to Lorna and David, like he’s learning to use it still.

“Don’t listen to him!” Pietro shouts, drawing Lorna’s attention for a moment. Pietor waves his hands at her, urging her to run.

Lorna turns back to Apocalypse. “What are you doing to him?” she asks.

“I’ve only helped him realize his true potential. He has so much power -- you _all_ have so much power.” Apocalypse gestures around the room, as though speaking to a crowd. “You've been limiting yourselves, led by blind and foolish teachers that want you to control your powers and hide, when you should be using them control the world.”

Dad’s right in front of her now, and Lorna wants to turn and run away but it's her _dad_ and he's _alive_ \-- which she was beginning to think might not be true -- even if something is very wrong with him. She reaches out to grab his shoulders, shaking hard. “Wake up! You have to wake up!” Dad’s head jerks on his shoulders like she’s shaking a doll. Behind her, David is clinging tightly to her shirt, telling her to stop hurting him. Lorna stops shaking him, but doesn't let go of his shoulders, her fingers digging into his sweater.

Dad looks at her with an expression that would be fond if not for his blank eyes. “I've never been more awake,” Dad says. He reaches up like he’s going to stroke her hair, but instead rests his fingertips against her temples. “It's time for _you_ to wake up, darling.”

Lorna’s confusion only lasts for a few seconds, before it feels like the world explodes around her. It reforms almost instantly, but there’s so much _more_. Her skin in tingling from the static charge in the air and it takes her a long minute to realize that _she’s_ causing it. The air that feels like it’s flowing around her isn't air at all, it's a charged current.

Apocalypse is next to her now, taking her hand and placing it on the ground. “Embrace your power,” he tells her. “You can reshape the very earth. Tear it down and rebuild it into something _better_.”

And she _can_. She can feel it calling out to her, singing as she brushes invisible fingertips against it. She can feel the molten metal at the core of the earth, the fields of magnetic polarity responding to the slightest attention, as though begging her to bend and shape them.

Apocalypse smiles down at her, and Lorna sees it as though from far away. She feels like she’s slightly outside of her body. She’s not entirely here, her consciousness is stretched to infinity. The world lying before her like a puppet, waiting for its master. She tugs one of the strings, and feels everything around her tremble. Distantly, she recognizes that David is yelling, but the magnetic currents around her are comforting, lulling her into a trance. Everything else feels insignificant. Why has anything but this ever mattered?

Apocalypse takes her hand and Lorna follows him, shaking off David’s desperate attempt at holding her back.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Erik_ **

Erik looks up when he hears screaming just in time to see someone with wings flying overhead. “Was that--”

Storm kicks up a miniature twister in front of Erik and Raven, and he has to lift himself up quickly, using his pull on the magnetic fields in the air carry him backwards quicker than his feet can. Raven is flung to the side by the force of it. Erik lifts a block of cement, rebar sticking out at odd angles, and hurls it towards Storm.

He looks back up again, but the winged person is gone. He glances back at where they came from, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. They came from the direction of the plane.

Raven must be having the same thought, because she looks at Erik and says, “Go! We’ll hold them out here.”

Erik takes off sprinting for the entrance of the pyramid, dodging Storm’s continued lightning strikes and the rubble on the ground. He runs inside, stopping to catch his breath as he looks around. It's cavernous and empty, the walls disappearing into the darkness above with no sign of the ceiling. He can hear Lorna shouting, but her voice is echoing off the walls and he can't tell where it's coming from. Then the ground starts trembling, rocks falling from somewhere high above as the entire pyramid shakes, and he _feels_ it. She’s manipulating the magnetic currents, pulling them in ways they're not meant to be pulled. But… Lorna _can't_ do that. Not yet, anyway. Erik’s been teaching her and she’s good with metal and manipulating it, even large objects, and he knows that one day she’ll be able to do more -- using the magnetic currents in the air to fly, like he does -- but she shouldn't be doing it _now_. This feels like even more than that. She’s ripping at the very fabric of the Earth, a level of power he's never imagined being capable of.

He takes a guess and runs toward the other end of the large entrance hall, swinging a left when he thinks he hears David’s voice. He makes a wrong turn somewhere and has to double back before he finally finds the right room. He stumbles to a stop as he takes in the scene. Lorna’s lying prone on one of the tables in the center of the room, not moving, and Apocalypse is lying on the other one, some sort of gold light running from the walls to the table underneath him. Charles is there, looking like death warmed over and still wearing the clothes he’d been wearing when he was captured, but _alive._ David has climbed onto Charles’ chair, shaking him and crying.

Pietro is across the room, apparently stuck to the floor. “About time, Pops!” he yells.

Erik starts to move toward the dais -- Lorna looks to be in the most immediate danger -- but the winged man who’d flown overhead earlier drops to the ground between Erik and the dais.

“You won't interrupt the ritual,” he tells Erik.

“The hell I won't.”

The boy’s wings are made of metal knives, and Erik grabs hold of them with his powers. He's tempted to rip them off the boy’s back, but instead flings him toward the wall high above, slamming him into it as hard as he can. The boy lands in a heap on the floor and doesn't move.

Lorna’s eyes are open, but she’s staring forward like she’s looking at something far beyond Erik. He tries to pick her up, but her wrists and ankles are bound to the dais. The restraints are seamless, part of the dais itself. He looks over at Apocalypse, but his eyes are closed and arms crossed over his chest. If Erik didn't know better he'd swear he was sleeping. The gold lights have covered his entire dais now, and seem to be lifting his body into the air.

Erik casts around for something to saw at Lorna’s restraints with, and winds up ripping one of the knives from the winged boy’s back, calling it towards himself, setting to work sawing at the restraints.

Behind him, he hears someone shout his name, and turns to find Hank standing in the doorway. “Get everyone out!” he shouts. The knife isn't making much of a dent in the stone holding Lorna down.

Erik tries shaking her shoulders while he continues sawing at the stone with his powers.

Lorna turns her head slightly, blinking at him slowly. “Papa?” she asks, voice barely a whisper.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Erik tells her. “You’re gonna be fine.” He's not sure who he's trying to reassure more, her or himself. He snatches up another of the boy’s wings, reshaping it into a chisel and setting to work on the restraints on Lorna’s ankles. She moves a bit, pulling at the restraints, but still seems mostly out of it.

The gold lights that have been lifting Apocalypse’s body have lowered him again, and are snaking their way across the space between the two daises.

Behind him, David is screaming. “Let me go!”

Erik glances over his shoulder to see Hank struggling to hold onto David while also supporting Pietro. David's fighting against him, straining to get back to Charles. Charles is still unresponsive, his eyes the same black pits they'd been when Apocalypse had possessed him at the house. Erik wonders if he's been like this the whole time he’s been gone, if Charles is still even in there, or if he’s just an empty shell that Apocalypse has been controlling.

“Get him out of here!” Erik shouts at Hank.

David keeps kicking viciously, and lands a blow to Hank’s stomach that has him releasing his hold involuntarily and stumbling back a step, startling a scream out of Pietro as the movement jars his leg. 

David scrambles to get back over to Charles, climbing into his lap again and grabbing Charles’ head in his hands. “Wake up Daddy!”

\---

**_Charles_ **

As soon as Charles realizes that it's Jean who's trying to contact him, Apocalypse has realized it too and all Charles can do is try to scream as he’s forced down inside his own head again. Apocalypse doesn't even allow him that protest, taking physical control of Charles’ body before he can do more than twitch.

_Professor?_ Jean asks.

_Hello Jean_ , Apocalypse tells her. 

Charles feels like he's watching from far away. He tries yelling at Jean to get out, save herself, but Apocalypse has already taken control of her mind as well. The awareness of her disappears between one blink and next.

_What did you do to her?_ Charles asks.

Apocalypse doesn't answer. He turns to Storm and tells her to head outside to greet their guests.

_What did you do?_ Charles tries asking again. He claws at the hold Apocalypse has on him, which only serves to annoy him.

_Go to sleep_ , Apocalypse says.

Charles feels the command in his bones, pulling him down and under no matter how hard he tries to fight.

He closes his eyes.

\---

At first, Charles isn’t sure what woke him up. He strains his eyes, peering into the dark shadows that shroud his bedroom, but there’s nothing amiss. Then he hears it again, a crash from downstairs. He reaches out, and finds that everyone who’s supposed to be in the house is still asleep, their thoughts quiet and muted as they dream. 

He scrambles out of bed, kicking off the heavy blankets, and tiptoes over to his closet, groping around the back wall until his fingers brush against his old baseball bat. It might finally prove useful, since it’s not as though he ever uses it to play ball.

He thinks momentarily of waking someone else, asking for help, but dismisses the thought as soon as it occurs to him. It might be nothing, and then they’d be mad at him for disturbing their sleep.

The wood floor is cold against his bare feet. He holds the bat aloft as he makes his way down the steps, carefully stepping over the ones that he knows creak. The door to the kitchen is open, the sounds of someone rummaging about inside clear now that he’s close. He adjusts his grip on the bat before darting quickly around the door, hoping to startle whoever is inside.

There’s a boy standing in the middle of the room, a bit younger than Charles himself. Charles frowns at him, lowering the bat a bit. “Who are you?” he asks.

The boy doesn’t say anything.

Charles sighs, finally dropping the bat. “This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Where’s Raven?”

“She’s outside,” the boy says. “Helping Papa.”

“And who are you?” Charles asks again.

“I’m David,” the boy says. “You know that.”

“No, I don’t. You could be him, playing a trick on me.”

David looks around the room, before saying, “This whole thing is a trick. It’s not real.”

“It feels real.” 

“You know that it’s not,” David says.

He’s right, Charles knows that there’s something off about everything. It feels like there’s a movement in the corner of his eye, something happening but just out of sight. He turns to look, but there’s nothing there. Just the window, with the curtains drawn shut.

“What’s outside?” Charles asks.

“Go look,” David tells him.

Charles walks over to the window and pulls the curtain back. Instead of the view of the back yard that he’s expecting, he’s looking into another room. It’s huge, and in the center there’s a table when a girl lying on it, surrounded by gold light. Charles can tell that she’s screaming, even if he can’t hear anything.

When he turns away David is standing right next to him, holding out a hand. “It’s time to wake up.”

“What if he makes me go to sleep again?” Charles asks, remembering how much it hurts. “I don’t want to kill anyone else.”

“I’ll be with you,” David says. He raises his hand a bit, beckoning Charles to take it. “Wake up, Daddy.”

Charles takes his hand.

\---

The first thing Charles sees when he wakes up is David’s face, mismatched eyes staring unblinkingly into his own.

“David?” Charles tries to say, but his throat feels rusty with disuse. He swallows hard before asking, “What did you do?”

David smiles at him, hands lowering from Charles’ temples to rest on his shoulders. “I woke you up.”

From behind David, Charles hears Hank asking, “Charles?”

He looks over David’s head to find Hank staring in shock. Charles feels shocked as well, not just from finally being free of Apocalypse’s control -- he can tell that any trace of Apocalypse in his mind has been erased -- but also by what this means for David. He hasn’t exhibited any sign of powers before now, and Charles isn’t sure if this is sign that he’s a telepath or not. It’s nothing like when Charles’ own powers had manifested, unless he missed David freaking out because he was hearing voices while he was under Apocalypse’s control. And whatever David did to free Charles, it’s also not quite telepathy. Charles can see someone’s memories, but they’re usually affected by how well the person remembers them -- sometimes crisp and clear, sometimes fuzzy and vague, sometimes only the faintest impression. And while Charles remembers meeting Raven for the first time, he’s sure he didn’t remember things like the specific pajamas he was wearing or how cold the floor had been.

Hank’s still staring at him. “Are you…?” he starts, trailing off like he’s not sure what to ask.

There’s a scream, bloodcurdling and full of pain and that Charles instantly recognizes as Lorna, even though he’s never heard her yell like that before. He turns to look towards the center of the room, where Erik is still trying to break Lorna free.

David scrambles off of Charles’ lap, easily dodging Charles’ attempt to hold onto him. “David! Don't--” Charles isn’t sure what he’s telling David not to do. Not to run off, not to go near whatever is happening to Lorna.

Hank darts after him, but David is faster, running over to the dais Apocalypse is lying on and climbing onto it.

Erik’s frozen in his attempt to break Lorna free, staring at David with the same horror on his face that Charles is feeling. Apocalypse appears to be unconscious, and doesn’t react to David kneeling on the dais next to his head, but Charles knows that doesn’t mean much when it comes to what Apocalypse could do to him. 

“David,” he says slowly, wheeling his chair as close as he can get and reaching a hand out towards David. “Get away from him.”

“But I know what to do now,” David says earnestly.

“That’s okay,” Charles tells him. “You don’t need to do anything. Come back here.”

David looks over at Lorna. “Yes I do.” He turns back to Apocalypse, his face screwed up in concentration, and places his hands against Apocalypse’s temples.

Charles reaches for him, hand closing around David’s wrist just before there’s a wave of _power_ that pushes him back, his chair sliding backwards until he hits a dip in the floor and jerks to a stop, nearly toppling over. 

David’s eyes have rolled back into his head, only the whites showing. His mouth is open in a silent scream.

Charles rights his chair quickly and rushes forward again, grabbing David’s arm and pulling him away from Apocalypse with a sharp jerk. David goes limp, falling awkwardly into Charles’ lap, his eyes falling shut.

Charles shakes him. “David? David answer me!”

Erik’s in front of Charles suddenly, taking David’s head in his hands and turning him to face him. He plucks at one of David’s eyelids, but the whites of his eyes are still the only thing showing. “What’s wrong with him?” Erik demands.

“I don’t know.” Charles can feel how close to panic he is, but can’t manage to take anything more than a shallow breath around the vice like feeling in his chest.

“Dad?”

Charles turns his head to see Lorna sitting up. Whatever the gold light had been, it’s gone now, and she looks unharmed, if incredibly confused and scared. 

“What’s going on?” Lorna asks.

Erik’s looking over Charles’ head, nodding his head towards Lorna. “Hank’s going to get you out,” Erik tells her. He turns back to David, trying to shift him so that he can carry him.

Charles clings to David tightly, and Erik gives up trying to take him.

“Was it telepathy?” Erik asks.

“What?”

“Whatever he did to Apocalypse.”

Charles looks down at David. He still hasn’t moved. Charles stares hard at his chest, watching for it to rise and fall with each breath.

“Charles.” Erik shakes Charles’ shoulder, drawing his attention away. “Was he using telepathy? Can you tell what he did?”

“Maybe,” Charles says. “I don’t know what he did. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“If it’s telepathy can you fix it?” Erik asks. He wiggles his fingers next to his temple.

Charles looks back down at David. “I don’t know.” He brushes his fingers against David’s temple, pushing his hair back more than anything.

His first brush against David’s mind encounters only the haze of unconsciousness that he usually encounters in sleeping people. Maybe that’s a good sign, Charles thinks. Maybe he’s just sleeping.

Then something in David’s psyche latches onto him, and Charles feels himself being pulled under.

\---

David’s mind is normally fairly simple; his thoughts are always well organized, especially compared to the slight chaos of emotions that make up Erik’s and Lorna’s minds. Charles usually likes spending time with his telepathy just on the edge of David’s mind, finding his laid-back nature soothing.

This isn’t like that all. Charles finds himself shoved into a room, the door slamming shut behind him. He turns to look, and finds himself face to face with the front doors of the mansion. As he turns back, the foyer forms in front of him, the stairs climbing into darkness.

“David?” Charles calls.

There’s no answer, but something tells Charles to look upstairs. He climbs the stairs slowly, running a hand along the rail. It feels solid beneath his hand. The kitchen had felt real too, earlier. If Charles didn’t know that this was inside David’s mind, he’d have thought he was back home. He’s never seen anything like it in anyone’s mind before; dreams and memories never feel this solid. The closest thing Charles can think of is a flashback, but he's only experienced those second hand.

He finds David in his room. He’s sitting on the bed, legs pulled up in front of him and arms wrapped around them tightly.

“David?” Charles asks.

David’s staring at the closet door, and only looks away briefly to acknowledge Charles.

Charles walks over to the bed carefully. The room is accurate down to the scattered toys on the floor that Erik’s always scolding David for not cleaning up. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching towards David tentatively and trying not to feel hurt when David shies away from him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” David says, voice so quiet that Charles has to strain to hear him.

“It's alright,” Charles tells him.

“No.” David shakes his head.

Charles reaches out for him again, and this time David doesn't lean away. 

“There’s a man in the closet,” David says.

He’s been afraid of someone hiding in the closet, or under his bed, for months now and Charles is already saying, “There’s no one there,” before he's even thought about it.

“You didn't look,” David says. “You never look.”

“What am I looking for?”

David doesn't answer, so Charles stands up and walks toward the closet. The door is closed, but there's a strange light leaking through the edges. He frowns, turning the handle.

“No! Don't!” David shouts.

But it's too late and the door is already open, the light spilling out into the room. Apocalypse, looking even larger than he had in the physical world, looms over him.

“You let him out!” David yells.

Charles tries to close the door again, but Apocalypse is already stepping through.

“Thank you for letting me out, Charles,” Apocalypse says.

Charles stumbles back, trying to keep himself between Apocalypse and David.

He's not sure how exactly, but this _is_ Apocalypse, as real as he ever was in the flesh, here in David’s mind. And Charles knows, with a certainty that he can’t explain, that Apocalypse needs to be contained. Locked away somewhere he can't escape from and left to rot.

He turns to David, grabbing his shoulders. “Take us downstairs,” Charles tells him, glancing over his shoulder at Apocalypse.

“I don't know how!” David’s crying, tears streaking his face and body shaking with the force of it.

“Yes you do,” Charles says. “Just think it. We’re downstairs.” He tries to think of the most secure spot. Cerebro’s out of the question -- if there's even a possibility of it working from within this mindscape of David’s then Apocalypse can't be given access to it. The old bunkers Charles’ stepfather had built though, those might work. Erik and Hank have been plotting about turning them into a training room for years now without actually following through on it, using the logic that any explosions or the like could be contained. Charles pushes the image of the bunker towards David, hoping that his telepathy even works here.

Between one blink and the next they're in the bunker. It’s walls reach deep into the fuzzy darkness that seems to edge everything here.

Charles grabs David’s hand and runs for the door. It seems larger than normal, the perspective skewed. He can feel Apocalypse on his heels.

“You can't stop me,” Apocalypse says, voice booming off the metal walls.

They skid through the door, and Charles yells at David, “Close the door!”

It booms shut behind them, but Charles doesn't turn back until he’s halfway down the hall, stumbling to a stop and causing David to crash into his legs. When he does, he sees that the door has bowed out, the metal bending under the force of Apocalypse pounding against it.

“It’s gonna break,” David says.

“No it won't,” Charles promises. “It's solid steel. A nuclear bomb can't get through it.” He kneels in front of David, forcing him to meet his eyes instead of staring at the door. “David,” he says. “It's okay. Look at me.” 

David finally does, his eyes boring into Charles’ own.

“You know how strong that bunker is, remember? Nothing can get in or out unless you let it.”

David looks back at the door, and Charles follows his gaze to see that it’s gone back to a smooth surface. No sign that Apocalypse had nearly broken out remains.

David nods a bit. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Charles says. He pulls David toward him, holding onto him tightly. “It's okay, he’s gone.”

He's not gone though, not really. Charles still doesn't know what David did that brought Apocalypse into his mind, but it was unmistakably him locked in that shelter now, not a mere astral projection. And Charles has no idea how to get rid of him permanently.

David pulls back a bit, and Charles squeezes him tightly for a moment before letting go. “We have to go back,” David says. “Papa is worried.”

“How do you know?”

“You can't hear him?”

Charles strains to listen, but shakes his head when all he hears is the ringing in his own ears.

“He’s yelling,” David says.

“He tends to do that,” Charles points out. That gets a small grin out of David, like Charles has shared a secret joke with him. “Do you know how to get out?” he asks.

David nods. “Close your eyes,” he says.

Charles does, and when they open again he’s in the pyramid, David’s body sprawled across his lap, and Erik is indeed yelling, shouting at Hank about getting them the fuck out of here. Lorna hovers behind him, freed from the dais she’d been strapped to.

“Erik,” Charles says. Then, when Erik doesn't hear him over his own yelling, shouts, “Erik!”

Erik spins around, stumbling towards him. “Charles, fuck. You're back.” He reaches towards Charles, as though checking to make sure he’s really there.

Charles looks down at David, but a brush against his mind finds him merely sleeping this time.

“What...” Erik starts to ask, trailing off as if unsure what the question should even be.

“I don't know what he did,” Charles says. “But he's only sleeping now.”

“And Apocalypse?”

Charles bites his lip before answering, “Not an issue. For now.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I don't understand what David did to him. He’s locked away for now.”

“Locked away… Where?” Erik asks, looking like perhaps he doesn't actually want the answer. Charles doesn't answer right away, trying to figure out what locking him in the bunker in the house in David’s mind equates to, and Erik figures it out on his own. “He’s inside David’s head?” 

The horrified expression on Erik’s face makes Charles hesitate too long again, and Erik shouts, “Get him out!”

“I don't know how!” Charles shouts back at him. He's more angry with himself for not being able to do more, than with Erik for pointing it out. “I've done all I can for now. I don't even know what his power _is_ much less how to control it.”

Erik looks… Well, he looks like a mess, honestly. Not just because it’s clear that he’s been fighting, but because he also looks like he's barely hanging on. Charles knows he's not doing much better himself.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for Erik’s hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

They're interrupted by Hank, walking towards them with a limping Pietro clinging to one arm and Lorna hovering close to the other. Hank glances between them, then over at the dais where Apocalypse’s body still lies. Or, his bones anyway; the rest of him appears to have disintegrated. “So, what are we gonna do with this pyramid?” he asks.

Charles looks up towards the ceiling, or where it should be since the room stretches upwards seemingly forever.

“I don't care what they do with it,” Erik says. “Where’s the plane? We need to get home.”

Lorna makes a small noise, and they all turn to look at her. “About the plane… It’s kind of broken.”


	9. Chapter 9

**_Erik_ **

The plane they came in is beyond repair -- they find Wanda, Scott, and Jean next to the wreckage, all looking a bit worse for the wear but uninjured. Betsy’s nowhere to be found, and Storm appears to have run off as soon as it became clear that Apocalypse had lost. Erik should probably chase after them, make sure the threat is entirely vanquished, but he feels disinclined to do anything other than put as much distance between Cairo and his family as possible.

He finds an undamaged plane, smaller than the Blackbird but larger than Charles’ private plane, in an abandoned airport --  or not so abandoned, he realizes, eyeing the bodies scattered inside the terminal and wondering what happened. Apocalypse must have killed them somehow, before turning downtown Cairo into a huge pyramid. They look like they’d simply dropped dead in the middle of whatever they were doing; some are sitting in chairs, others slumped over tables.

Erik covers his mouth and nose with a hand to try and block out the smell.

There’s a dead body in a pilot’s uniform in the cockpit of the plane, hands still on the controls. Erik lifts him by the metal in his clothes and leaves him in the gangway. He checks the rest of the plane carefully before using his powers to move it over to where the others are waiting.

He doesn’t mention what he’d found to anyone, just tells Hank to get everyone on the plane.

Lorna has been sticking close to Charles, who’s still holding on to David tightly. Erik stops in front of them. “Ready to get out of here?"

Charles is staring out at the destruction surrounding them. There aren’t any more bodies immediately visible, but they’re likely just buried under the rubble.

Erik crouches down to meet Charles' eyes, hands cradling his head and forcing him to look away, to meet Erik’s gaze. “Are you okay?"

“I…” Charles looks a bit lost, finally blinking hard and focussing on Erik. “I’m fine.” He looks down at David, then over to Lorna, asking her, “Are you alright?"

Lorna nods, biting at her lip before admitting, “Everything still feels really… weird."

Charles frowns at her, and she adds, “Like… the air is humming.” She holds out a hand, fingers twisting, and Erik can feel where she’s tugging on the magnetic current in the air. It itches across his skin, a stronger sensation than usual. Or maybe he just isn’t used to someone else manipulating it.

“That feeling will fade,” he promises Lorna. At least he thinks it will. He remembers the wonder he’d felt when he’d discovered how far he could stretch his powers, how much control over the planet he really had, but eventually he’d become accustomed to it. Surely Lorna will as well.

Lorna looks relieved, at least.

Erik busses a kiss against Charles’ forehead, clearly surprising him, before straightening up. “Let’s go home then."

\---

The flight back is quiet. David wakes up halfway through, looking utterly confused but seemingly fine. Erik’s hoping for more of an explanation of what he did to Apocalypse, but it’s clear that David doesn’t know how to answer and that Charles hasn’t a clue either.

It’s a long flight. Erik sits next to Charles towards the back of the plane and asks again, quietly so as to not wake the others, “Are you sure you’re alright?"

Charles looks a bit annoyed. “I’m fine."

Erik reaches over and runs a hand along Charles’ jaw -- he’s got a bit of a beard coming in -- then brushes a finger against the vivid bruises circling Charles’ neck. “What happened here?"

Charles pulls away, and Erik lets his hand drop back into his lap.

“I spent a week locked in a room,” Charles says.

“And?” Erik prompts.

“And it wasn’t especially pleasant.” Charles sighs, leaning back against the wall of the plane and looking out the window.

Erik waits.

“Was everyone dead?” Charles finally asks. At a questioning noise from Erik, he clarifies, “In… Cairo, was it?"

“I think so,” Erik says, thinking again of all the bodies he’d seen. He’s glad none of the kids had been with him, and that there hadn’t been any dead near the pyramid. Or none that they’d seen, anyway.

Charles makes a small noise, distressed, but doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look away from the window.

“Did you feel them die?” Erik ventures, trying to figure out why Charles is acting so odd. Normally he’d be telling everyone what to do, taking the lead even if he clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s never silent and withdrawn like this, and Erik’s certain something else must have happened while he was being held by Apocalypse. He can’t have just been locked in a room and left alone the whole time. 

Erik’s already catalogued all the injuries he can see -- the bruises around Charles’ neck, evidence that someone had choked him at one point; the dirt on his clothing, the tear in his sweater; his too pale skin and the gauntness of his cheeks; the bit of dried blood on his ear and under his nose, physical evidence of the mental battle he’d had with Apocalypse. There’s more, he’s sure, hidden by clothing or that Charles will never tell him about. Erik clenches his hands into fists, fingernails digging into the skin. He wants to tear into Apocalypse for hurting Charles. His muscles are nearly shaking with it; the adrenaline from the battle hasn’t left him yet.

“I killed them,” Charles finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

It takes a second for Erik to process that, then he asks, “What?"

“All those people…"

Erik reaches for Charles again, forcing him to face him. “What are you talking about?"

“I killed them,” Charles says again. His eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“No you didn’t,” Erik tells him. Because he knows that. Whatever happened, Charles would never kill thousands of people.

“Yes, I did. I felt all of them and they were terrified and then I just-- I made them all stop."

Erik shakes his head. “You didn’t kill them, Charles."

Charles tries to pull away and Erik holds on tighter. “You didn’t kill anyone,” he says again.

“You weren’t there,” Charles says. 

It feels like an accusation, even if Erik doesn’t think Charles meant it that way. At least not consciously. “I know,” he says. He pulls Charles towards his chest, resting his cheek against Charles’ hair and just holding him close. “I know. I’m sorry."

Charles’s voice is muffled, face pressed in close against Erik’s shoulder, and he can feel more than hear him say, “I killed them.”

Erik shushes him, rocking a bit like he would if he were comforting Lorna or David. Charles would normally pull away, but  even though he allows himself to be held, his back is stiff under Erik’s hands.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Erik says.

Charles does pull away after that, scrubbing a hand across his face and glancing around, as though worried someone was watching them. They’re at the back of the plane though, in their own row. Lorna’s sitting in front of them, but she’s fallen asleep, and David had wanted to sit in the cockpit with Hank once he’d woken up. No one else is back here to pay attention to them.

Charles glances up at Erik, before focussing on the window again. “I’m tired,” he says. He starts to arrange himself to lean against the plane wall, but Erik pulls him close again, shifting a bit until his own legs are stretched out beneath the seats in front of them and Charles is tucked under his arm.

Charles mutters, “Your shoulder is too boney for a pillow.” But he doesn’t try to move, so Erik just squeezes him tighter.

\---

Charles falls asleep at some point over the Atlantic and doesn’t wake when they land. Erik eases out from under him carefully, then goes to shake Lorna awake.

Hank has taken charge now, and is checking everyone over before sending them off the plane.

“This is definitely broken,” Hank says, prodding carefully at Pietro’s leg.

Pietro is gritting his teeth, but manages to say, “No shit Sherlock."

Wanda, leaning over the row of seats to watch, swats at him, and Pietro swats right back at her. “Let him help,” she says.

“I can’t do much, actually,” Hank admits. “We’ll have to get you to a hospital so they can set it, make sure it’s not bad enough to need surgery."

Pietro looks a bit green at the thought.

“How’s everyone else?” Erik asks.

“Nothing major,” Hank says, straightening up as much as he can on the plane. He’s still blue and furry, making his head only scant inches from the curved ceiling. “Some cuts and scrapes. Exhaustion.” He looks towards the back of the plane, and asks, “Lorna?"

“She’s alright,” Erik says. “Her powers are…” He tries to think of how to describe it, and settles on, “Amplified. It will fade.” He hopes.

“And Charles?"

Erik leads Hank towards the back of the plane instead of answering. He shakes Charles’ shoulder to wake him, and Charles startles violently, lashing out with his fist and catching Erik on the arm.

Erik grabs his wrist to still him. “It’s alright,” he says quickly. “It’s just me."

Charles blinks up at him, eyes still wide and breath coming in short gasps.

Hank pretends nothing out of the ordinary has happened as he asks Charles, “Any injuries?"

Charles shakes his head no, at the same time that Erik says, “Yes."

Hank looks between them, then says, “Erik, why don’t you go get David. He fell asleep again in the cockpit."

Erik crosses his arms and stays where he is.

Charles clears his throat. “Go get the kids,” he says. “I’m fine.” At Erik’s look, he amends his statement to, “I’ll _be_ fine. Really I’m just tired."

Erik goes.

\---

Charles is not fine. Physically, his injuries are minor -- small cuts and bruises, a bit malnourished, and a badly sprained, but thankfully not broken, ankle. Mentally… Erik isn’t sure how he is mentally, but knows that _fine_ isn’t the right word for it.

The first night back, Charles lets Erik help him in the shower, apparently too exhausted to do more than lean against Erik’s side, blinking his eyes rapidly to keep them open. Once they’re in bed he sleeps the sleep of the dead, and doesn’t even stir when Lorna and David climb in with them.

The next day everything still feels strange and different. Pietro and Wanda return from the hospital in the wee hours of the morning -- Pietro’s sporting a huge cast encasing his entire leg and keeps tripping over his crutches, trying to walk too fast. Erik doesn’t see them until later in the morning, when he's in the kitchen scrounging for food. He’s a bit surprised that they’re still here. Now that the crisis has passed, it feels like they should be gone as well.

“Morning, Pops,” Pietro says, saluting him with a piece of toast. A bit of jam falls off, then disappears in a blur as Pietro licks his finger.

Erik blinks at the casual use of his powers.

“You really need to stop calling me that,” he finally says, turning away to fix his own toast. He fixes several slices, so he can take them upstairs. He’ll have to find jam too, the apricot one Charles likes and strawberry for the kids.

As he turns back, he catches an expression that almost looks like hurt on Pietro’s face. It’s gone so fast that Erik thinks he must have imagined it. Wanda’s watching him closely, and Erik can feel her scrutiny drilling holes into him.

When he gets back upstairs, everyone is awake and Charles refuses to eat in bed. He insists they go back downstairs and sit at the table like civilized people.

“But I brought food up here,” Erik protests.

“I don’t like eating in bed,” Charles says. Which is an understatement, since Charles has an aversion to it that borders on ridiculous.

Lorna and David stick close to Charles, and when they get back downstairs Raven is there too, along with Hank who's at the stove fixing eggs.

Erik sets the now cold toast down on the table and goes to get coffee. It almost feels like a normal morning, except that everyone is being far too quiet. He fixes a mug for Charles as well, adding extra sugar, and sets it down in front of him.

Charles murmurs a thank you but doesn’t reach for it, staring hard at Erik instead.

“What?” Erik asks, sliding into his chair and reaching for the toast.

Charles purses his lips, then turns to Wanda and says, “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Charles.” He holds out a hand for her to shake.

Wanda does so, looking a bit bemused by the interaction. “Wanda,” she says, “Maximoff."

Charles smiles at her and asks, “And how do you know Erik?"

Which is when Erik realizes that Charles _knows_. Of course he does. He's fucking psychic. Erik’s not sure why he thought he could wait to bring up the topic of the twins.

“Um…” Wanda says.

Erik stands back up, grabbing Charles’ arm. “We should talk."

Charles is still looking at Wanda as he says, “Why? Something you forgot to tell me?"

“Let’s go to the study."

“I’m eating breakfast,” Charles says. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Sit down, Erik."

Erik sits slowly.

That’s not the end of it, of course it’s not. Charles spends the meal chatting with Wanda about her powers -- something to do with probability, and nothing ever working the way she intends it to -- while everyone else watches warily. Charles ignores the tense atmosphere, asking Wanda about things she’s tried in the past and wondering aloud about how much her emotions or mindset affect the outcome.  It’s not until everyone else has cleared off -- including Lorna and David, who Charles tells to go help everyone in clearing up the mess in the foyer -- that Charles turns to Erik, his expression unreadable.

“I didn’t know,” Erik says.

“I know you didn’t."

“So you can’t be angry I didn’t tell you, since I didn’t even fucking _know_ they existed. If I had, I would’ve--“ Erik cuts himself off, because he doesn’t know what he would’ve done. Stayed with Magda? But she’s the one who left him. Given up on his revenge against Shaw? That had defined his life for over a decade. Never met Charles? He doesn’t like to think about what his life would be without Charles, without Lorna and David and this almost too domestic life with them that he’s carved out for himself.

“Would have what?” Charles prompts.

Erik doesn’t shrug, just shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He sighs deeply. “You’d think I’d know what to do with discovering I have children I didn’t know about by now.”

Charles presses his lips into a thin line.

“I didn’t mean--” Erik starts to say.

“Yes, you did,” Charles says.

There’s a reason Erik tries not to bring up Charles hiding Lorna from him for so many years. Mostly because they're so far past it; they have a life together and however their family started, where it is now is _so good_ Erik doesn’t want anything to fuck it up. But it feels raw right now, after finding Pietro and Wanda, like a scab that’s been picked off and started bleeding all over again. He missed four and half years of Lorna’s life, and he’ll never get that back. And now he’s missed nearly thirty years with Wanda and Pietro. He’s made his peace with missing seeing Lorna as a baby and toddler -- mostly, it wasn’t until David was born that he’d realized how much that time meant -- but he doesn’t know where to begin with a thirty year absence. There’s no making up for that.

“You could have told me you had a wife,” Charles says, when Erik stays quiet for too long.

“What difference would that have made?”

“You know everything about me,” Charles says, and there’s a slight hitch in his voice that has Erik looking up finally. Charles’ eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“You know me too,” Erik says.

“I thought I did.”

That rankles, seeing as Charles has always known Erik better than anyone else, and knows it. “What would you have done differently, if you’d known? I’ve never asked you for a list of everyone you’ve ever slept with.”

“I didn’t marry any of them,” Charles says, voice hard.

Erik spreads his hands out wide, placating. “What do you want me to do?”

Charles looks away, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Erik. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands a bit.

Erik leans over and reaches for his hand, tangling his fingers with Charles’ and pulling his hand closer, resting them both on the corner of the table between them. They both have bruised knuckles, but Charles’ nails are bitten to the quick.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Charles says.

“Then don’t.”

Charles huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “You make it hard not to, sometimes.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Erik says, smiling at him and trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, you do,” Charles says. “You know exactly how to--”

Erik leans over the table and kisses him. 

Charles makes a startled noise, muffled against Erik’s lips, then his fingers are gripping Erik’s hand tighter. He reaches up with his other hand to slide his fingers along Erik’s arm and shoulder, gripping his shirt tightly.

Erik pulls back to catch his breath, but rests his forehead against Charles’.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, voice coming out a bit strangled and desperate.

Charles kisses him again. Erik keeps pressing forward until he's left his own chair and has climbed onto Charles' lap, thighs straddling his. He doesn't break the kiss. It feels like he _can't_ , like as soon as he stops kissing Charles he's going to disappear again.

Erik barely registers that he's been grinding his hips down against Charles' lap until Charles pulls back, gasping for breath. "We can't have sex in the kitchen," he says.

"Sure we can. It's our kitchen." Erik waves a hand at the door, pulling the metal in the hinges until it won't open without him putting it back. "There, door’s locked."

He kisses Charles before he can protest, but Charles pulls back again after a minute. "There's no lube in the kitchen."

"There's... oil. And stuff."

Charles leans back more fully, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I am not having sex using _olive oil_ as lube."

"There's hand lotion."

"No," Charles says. "There's lube upstairs. I am far too old to settle for hand lotion."

Erik kisses Charles again, grinding down and making Charles gasp against his mouth. “I’m the one that just found out I have thirty year old kids,” Erik points out.

Charles smacks him on the arm.

"If I go get the lube, can we have sex in the kitchen?" Now that the idea has occurred to him, Erik really wants to make it happen. He wants to spread Charles out on the kitchen table, lick his way from his throat to his cock to his ass and open him up and fuck into him and spend dinner smirking over the memory of it.

He wants something normal, after the past week.

Charles doesn't say no, so Erik gives him another kiss before climbing off his lap. “I'll be right back.”

He practically runs upstairs, grabs the first tube of lube he finds, and rushes back downstairs. When he gets there Charles looks like he’s reconsidered, eyeing the table dubiously.

“We have a perfectly good bed upstairs,” he says.

“Oh no,” Erik says. He waves the lube like a prize. “I brought food upstairs and then we had to come downstairs to eat it, I did not bring lube downstairs just so we could go back upstairs to use it.”

“You know I don't like eating in bed,” Charles says, focusing on entirely the wrong part of what Erik has said. It's something so typically Charles that it makes Erik smile. “There are crumbs and it makes me feel--”

Erik cuts him off by leaning down to kiss him. When he pulls back Charles says, “Oh alright.”

Erik grins, and Charles shakes his head. “You always look a bit deranged when you make that face,” Charles says.

“You like my face.”

“Yes, well.” He pulls Erik down into another kiss.

Erik goes with it for a minute before saying, “I really want to fuck you on the table.”

“You just want to imagine fucking me on the table next time we have dinner,” Charles murmurs. Erik wonders for only a brief moment if Charles was reading his mind, but no, Charles just knows him that well. 

Charles kisses Erik again and wraps his arms around Erik’s shoulders so that Erik can lift him up, settling him on the edge of the table and then bearing him backward, not breaking their kiss as he does. Once Erik has him laid out on the table he starts working on getting Charles’ pants open.

“This table is really not comfortable,” Charles complains.

Erik gets a hand around Charles’ cock, stroking it twice before leaning down to start sucking him. He braces his hands against the edge of the table, on either side of Charles’ hips, and resolutely ignores the twinge as his back complains about the position. He is having kitchen table sex, dammit. Comfort can go hang.

Charles’ hips buck upward, and Erik has to shift his grip, bracing his weight on one hand and holding Charles’ hips down with the other. One of Charles’ hands finds its way to Erik’s head, fingers gripping at the short strands of hair and guiding, being careful not to push him down.

Erik pulls back a bit, even as Charles pushes more insistently at him. Charles makes a slightly broken sounding noise, before gasping as Erik starts laving sloppy kisses down his cock. The noises he makes are one of Erik’s favorite parts of sex. Charles is always so composed, acting as though nothing phases him and he always knows just what is going to happen before it does, but here, like this, Erik can destroy that composed demeanor.

He keeps working Charles’ cock with his mouth, until Charles gasps out his name and starts pulling instead of pushing.

Erik pulls off Charles and straightens back up, looking down at him. His lips are red from biting at them and his hair is in disarray from tossing his head back and forth. His cheeks are flushed and pupils are dilated and Erik loves him _so fucking much_ sometimes that he can barely stand it.

Erik bends a bit, getting Charles pants and underwear off one leg so he can step between his naked thighs, running his palms over Charles’ thighs and up to his hips. There’s a deep, purple bruise on Charles’ right hip, the edges tinged in green, and Erik runs his fingers over it gently, before shifting his hold to just below the mark and giving a sharp tug to pull Charles against him. 

Charles sits up, reaching for Erik’s belt. His fingers fumble a bit, brushing against Erik’s cock straining in his pants and making Erik hiss. “Come on, take these off,” Charles says.

Erik uses his powers to help with his belt and zipper. Charles pushes at his pants until they're bunched around Erik’s thighs and his cock is free, straining towards his stomach.

It takes a minute to figure out where Erik had left the lube -- in his back pocket -- but then he’s running slick fingers along Charles’ ass.

Charles falls back suddenly, and for a moment Erik’s worried that he’s cracked his head on the table.

“I’m fine. Keep going,” Charles says. Erik apparently doesn’t move fast enough, because then Charles is saying, “You’re the one who wanted to have sex on the kitchen table.”

Rather than answer, Erik works one finger into him, up to the knuckle in an easy push.

He feels like he’s only just gotten started fingering Charles -- another of Erik’s favorite things, because he always reacts so deliciously -- when Charles is telling him, “Come on, I’m ready.”

Erik keeps working three fingers into him, curling them a bit until he hits his prostate and Charles really does bang his head back against the table, one hand scrambling at the edge of the table for purchase.

Erik stills his fingers, leaning forward and sliding a hand under Charles’ head, cradling it in his palm. “Don't hurt yourself,” he says.

Charles narrows his eyes at him. “I’m going to hurt you if you don’t get your cock in me in the next thirty seconds.”

Erik laughs, then kisses him. If Charles is being bossy then clearly he’s fine.

Charles surges up into the kiss, groaning a bit as the movement forces Erik’s fingers inside him to shift. Erik eases them out, stroking his cock with his slick hand. He breaks the kiss with Charles but stays bent over him as he takes hold of his cock and lines up, beginning the slow slide in.

Charles is hot and tight and _perfect_ and Erik rests his forehead against Charles’ shoulder, breathing hard and open mouthed, as he bottoms out. Charles groans a bit, muscles fluttering around Erik.

Charles wraps an arm around Erik’s back, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Erik…”

Erik braces himself over Charles, hands on either side of his head, and pulls halfway out before slamming back in again. Charles makes a small noise, turning his face to the side, forehead resting against Erik’s wrist.

Erik busses a kiss against his temple and keeps kissing him, haphazard brushes of his lips against Charles’ cheek and throat and collarbone, as he starts fucking Charles in earnest.

Charles reaches for his own cock, stroking out of sync with Erik’s thrusts. They stay like that for what seems like forever and also not long enough, the only sound flesh on flesh and a slight scraping as the table jerks a bit under them. Then Erik can feel his orgasm building more and more, and he’s coming, muffling his shout against Charles’ throat.

When he comes back down from his orgasm, Charles is stroking Erik’s hair with one hand, the other still on his own cock. Erik pulls out, making Charles wince a bit, then kneels down to take Charles’ cock into his mouth again.

Charles sits up, body curling around Erik’s head in his lap and hands fisting in the back of Erik’s shirt.

Erik works him the way he knows Charles likes, sucking hard on the head, pulling back to tongue at the slit, and stroking the rest with his hand. Charles comes down Erik’s throat with a shout that he doesn't even try to muffle.

Charles cups his hands on either side of Erik’s jaw, turning his face upward into a kiss. When he pulls back, he stares into Erik’s eyes for a bit, his expression soft, and Erik thinks he’s going to say something sappy like _I love you_ , but then Charles says, “I know why we never have sex in the kitchen now. This table is incredibly uncomfortable.”

Erik laughs.


End file.
